


Somewhere in the World

by Water_Nix



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Klaine Big Bang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Water_Nix/pseuds/Water_Nix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in the World is the world's most popular children's show, and its star, Blaine Anderson, has been touted as the handsome second coming of Mr. Rogers. Even Kurt watches the show religiously, and his list of Blaine's best attributes is even longer than that of TV's most gushing reviewer. Yes, okay, so Kurt has a little crush. Maybe. Possibly. <i>Shut up</i>. So when he's given the chance to meet the man in the flesh, he can't really say no, can he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Klaine Big Bang 2013. Many, many thanks to my wonderful betas -- borogroves, cocktail-party-in-an-abattoir and wheretheshadowslie. You guys are the best! And to my lovely and talented artist, batcii for the absolutely breathtaking work. You are amazing, Sas! Thank you, darling. <3 
> 
> All art within was created by the wonderful [Sas](batcii.tumblr.com).

_One... Kurt lusts, Santana helps, and The Devil Child vomits._

Kurt is singing along to a French song about cabbages when Santana's walk of shame comes to its conclusion in their living room. She throws herself onto the couch next to him and steals his bowl of cereal, and he can't help but bend down and give her a cursory sniff, regretting it immediately when his nose fills with stale cigar smoke and cloying, floral perfume. He tries to pry his spoon away from her grip as she shovels his breakfast greedily into her mouth.

“Leave my Froot Loops alone!”

“Like you even need Froot Loops. Your gay is already at maximum capacity.”

They wrestle over the bowl for a moment more, Kurt finally getting the upper hand and tugging it away from her, sloshing a bit of milk on his hoodie in the process. He shrugs and wipes it away and turns his attention back to the TV.

“You made me miss the song!” he complains around a mouthful of cereal.

Santana rolls her eyes and opens her mouth for another bite of Froot Loops, which Kurt feeds her without turning in her direction.

“Did he do The Naughty Chair yet?” she asks, mouth full.

“The _Story_ Chair. Oh my God, Santana, this is a kid's show!”

She swallows the cereal and makes another grab for Kurt's spoon, but he has the advantage seeing as he's not suffering from a hangover, and quickly turns his body.

“Yeah, which is why _you_ watch it so diligently every Saturday, being a kindergartner and all.”

“Shut up,” Kurt deadpans.

“Uh huh. The lady doth protest... not really hard at all, Hummel.”

Kurt shoots her a glare and stuffs his mouth full of Froot Loops.

“So where is he today?” Santana asks, grabbing the remote from Kurt's lap and turning up the volume.

“France.”

“What?! I can't believe I missed France.” She shakes her head and tucks her legs up under her, settling in against Kurt's side.

“So why do _you_ watch the show with me every weekend exactly, Miss Lopez? Hmm?”

“At least I don't have a crush on bowties and short pants over there,” she says, nodding her head at the screen. “But you _are_ very Victorian. Do his bare ankles make you all hot and swoony?”

“I said shut up; I'm trying to hear him sing... But kind of, yes.” Kurt feels his face warming with his blush but he ignores Santana's laugh, her pointy elbow digging into his side. Instead he focuses on the screen. Blaine Anderson. He looks very dashing today: pale pastel greens and crisp white paisley bow tie as he stands at the foot of Mont St Michel. Kurt tilts his head to one side and tries to hold in his sigh. Why can't he meet a man like _that_ in his day to day life? He's so entranced that he only catches the tail end of whatever Santana is babbling about.

“There's no fooling me.”

“Yeah, yeah, you're a true genius when it comes to reading subtle social cues, et cetera. Now be quiet, it's almost time for The Story Chair.”

“Already? What about the Eiffel Tower? Ugh, whatever, I need a shower anyway.”

Kurt waves his hand in the air to shush her just as Blaine sits in his virtual chair, clutching a book in his obviously soft and well-manicured hands. “He's already been to the Eiffel Tower. The view from the top was breathtaking,” Kurt tells her quickly, hoping she'll shut up.

“Without even leaving the soundstage right here in beautiful New York City,” she says dryly. “He is a true magician. David Copperfield in grandpa clothes.” She pauses for a moment, taking advantage of Kurt's distraction to steal his cereal again and finish off the last couple of bites. “You know, we could totally find out where he films and pay him a visit.”

“Right, because that wouldn't be _stalking_ or anything,” Kurt answers and rolls his eyes, leaning in to listen to Blaine tell a story about knights and princes.

“You could run into him accidentally. And then relay the fact that you're secretly in love with him and moan at the TV how you want his babies every Saturday morning like clockwork.”

Kurt makes a growling sound and tugs a throw cushion out from under him to smack her with. “Go away now, would you? You said you were going to shower, so go shower.”

She gets up with a laugh and ruffles his hair while he bats her hand away, then she plunks the empty bowl on the coffee table and goes to take her shower.

Kurt leans closer to the television just as Blaine is about to begin his closing song. “As if I'd be lucky enough to run into _him_ ,” he says under his breath.

As Blaine walks along a virtual street, singing _Big, Beautiful Planet_ , like he does at the close of each episode, a puppy runs around his feet and he reaches down to scoop it up.

“Who gave that man a puppy?” Kurt grumbles at the TV. “That should be illegal. It has got to be illegal in several states at the very least.”

The puppy licks Blaine's face and he honest to God _giggles_ and Kurt is done for. He's also sitting on the floor now, and how the hell did he get there? “Oh my God, I want your babies,” he whispers.

And then nearly jumps out of his skin when Santana speaks up from behind the couch. “Did you just whisper ' _I want your babies_ ' at the TV again?”

“No, I most certainly did not.”

“Uh huh. Sure you didn't.”

**

When Kurt gets home from rehearsals the following Monday, he's practically vibrating with nerves and excitement.

“Santana! Oh my God, are you home? You're not gonna believe this!”

Santana pops out from the refrigerator where she'd been rummaging for snacks, half an éclair hanging out of her mouth. She removes it and licks her lips.

“What the fuck, Prancey? What's got you frothing glitter at the mouth? Are they casting an all gay revival of _Cats_? Because I gotta say that seems a little redundant to me.”

Kurt just waves away her sass and continues. “Tracy from costumes gave me tickets to see Blaine Anderson— _Somewhere in the World_ live at Carnegie Hall! And backstage passes, Santana. _Backstage_.”

“And I know how badly you want into his backstage,” Santana replies with a waggle of eyebrows and takes a huge bite of her éclair.

“Oh my God, you—” He rolls his eyes. “Never mind. So what do I _do_?”

“Ah... go to the concert? Duh. It's not rocket science. Or even the basic elementary school variety.”

Kurt steals the éclair from her and shoves it into his mouth. “I can't just show up there without a kid! People will think I'm a creeper or something.”

“First of all, Lady _No_ -Chesterfield, you can stop stress-eating my pastries, and secondly, just borrow Rachel and Finn's little snot-nosed monster for the night.” She grabs the last bit of éclair from his mouth and pops it into hers. “I'll go with you. We'll totally look like a happy hetero fam.”

Kurt gets his hopes up for a moment but they are quickly dashed. His nephew? He'd have more luck borrowing a kid from a stranger at the park. “Rachel will never let us,” he tells Santana. “Not after we almost lost him in Saks.”

“That little fucker hid from us; I will not take responsibility for that. How is it our fault that their combined DNA formed the antichrist? And anyway, Rachel is in Europe right now, remember? Finn won't even bat an eye if you want to borrow his hell spawn for an evening. Hell, he'd probably cry from gratitude and run away to the Poconos never to be heard from again. There will be constant Bigfoot sightings. Tourism will go up by fifteen percent.”

Kurt shakes his head to clear it of the ridiculous that Santana just spewed. But she is right: Rachel isn't back for another week. “You might just be my new favourite person, Santana Lopez.”

“Oh please, I've always been your favourite person. Don't even pretend with that shit.”

**

And Santana was right of course, which she has been rubbing in ever since. Finn was more than willing to be rid of his son for the night, telling Olivier to be good for his Uncle Kurt before shutting the door on them and yelling, “ _Woohoo!_ ” from inside the apartment.

In theory it was a great plan, sure, but as Kurt stood in the hallway and looked down at his nephew, a deceivingly angelic smile on his round face, he knew he was in for trouble. He just hoped that meeting Blaine Anderson would be worth what he was about to get himself into.

An hour and a half later, he's bribing Olivier with the promise of untold riches and ice cream in order to get him to stop hanging off of his arm and kicking him in the shins.

“Auntie Snix is about two seconds away from erupting and schooling your ass, kid. Watch it!”

“Your name isn't Snix, it's Santana, and you're not even my real auntie. You're a fake one. I know it.”

Santana copies Olivier's _neener neener_ voice and Kurt has to rest a placating hand on her arm to keep her from grabbing the kid.

“Okay guys, the concert's about to start,” he says, trying to sound upbeat. “Who's ready for some fun?”

Santana shoots him a glare from over Olivier's head. Olivier, who is trying his damnedest to stomp on Kurt's feet as Kurt slides and dances out of his reach. There is no way that little brat is putting marks on his brand new boots. He's about to take his nephew and physically turn him in the direction of the stage when the music stops playing through the loudspeakers and there is a veritable hush that falls over the audience.

Olivier turns without Kurt's assistance and Kurt nearly lets out an involuntary gasp when he hears Blaine Anderson's voice echoing through the stadium.

_“Imagine a time when the world was a lush, green jungle and there were giant lizards everywhere—the land, the sea, and the sky. And what were these lizards called?”_

“Dinosaurs!” Olivier shouts, along with the other hundreds of children. Kurt startles and glances at Santana, who is watching the stage in childlike wonder.

The stage is a riot of coloured lights, twisting and turning in strange patterns. There are enormous screens with images flickering: T-Rex and Velociraptors and Pterodactyls. There are gigantic green plants seemingly growing out of the floor and finally he appears—Blaine Anderson is there, turning to smile at the audience on a revolving platform. The music starts and Blaine begins to sing and Kurt is lost.

He keeps telling himself this is meant for children and he's being ridiculous, but Santana is dancing and singing along, as well as most of the parents in attendance, so he quickly pushes his self-consciousness aside and lets himself have fun.

He catches Santana watching him several times during the concert, giving him a smug look. And he'd roll his eyes at her, dismiss her, but he knows how he must look, how smitten he very obviously is and he decides to just go with it. He shrugs at her and she laughs and they both grab Olivier by a hand and swing him between them as they dance to _Something in My Shoe_ , and up on stage, Blaine Anderson plays the kazoo and acts out the silliness of the song in front of a large screen of projected images.

Backstage is chaos—a cacophony of voices, children and adults alike. Kurt and Santana stand amongst the crowd of tiny versions of Blaine Anderson—bowties and sweater vests and rolled up pants all accounted for—each with one of Olivier's hands in a firm grip to ensure that he doesn't run off as they wait in line for their turn to meet the full-sized Blaine Anderson.

Kurt's palms are slick with nervous sweat and Olivier tugs his hand away and wipes it off on Kurt's jeans with a disgusted look on his face. Santana smirks over at him, but all he can do is shrug again. He's like a teenager with a crush; it's stupid and he knows it, but it's not as though he can _do_ anything about it. It's there. It has been for months and it doesn't seem about to go away anytime soon.

He can see Blaine Anderson for a long while before he's able to talk to him. They inch minutely forward as Blaine Anderson smiles and laughs and shakes hands and poses with his fans. Kurt sees many women posing with him as well as children, and he feels a little less like a pathetic weirdo for being enamoured with a guy who hosts a kid's television show. These other adults are very obviously smitten with him as well.

As much as Kurt loves Blaine Anderson's smile and eyes and small, firm looking body that, damn, well, he really, really loves all of those things—but it's his _voice_ that does Kurt in in the end. It sounds lovely and sweet through the speakers of the television, and it had sounded amazing through the microphones, resonating around the arena just now as he performed—but in person, in person Kurt feels ready to swoon at the sound of it.

“Hey little guy!” Blaine Anderson says, bending over to greet Olivier and give him a fist bump. “I hope you had fun in there.”

Olivier just nods, staring up at him with wide eyes and Kurt feels the need to take over before Santana does. God knows what sort of chaos she might bring down upon their heads. The last time he'd given her the chance to lead the conversation when they were meeting someone new, he'd ended up being frisked in the street outside of a gay bar by an undercover cop.

“Hi, I'm Kurt Hummel,” he says, his voice overly bright and his eyes likely manic. “It's nice to meet you, Mr. Anderson. And congratulations on your army of tiny clones.”

Blaine Anderson laughs and Kurt feels his eyes become slightly more manic in response. “My own little army,” Blaine says, and he winks. _Winks_. Kurt feels his face heat up with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment.

“And please, call me Blaine,” he continues, and reaches out a hand for Kurt to shake. “Is this your son?” he asks after a beat of silence. He looks first at Kurt and then Santana.

Kurt and Santana share a glance before shaking their heads in unison.

“Us together? No,” Kurt says. “We're both gay.”

“I don't touch the bratwurst,” Santana says at the same moment and Kurt just barely holds in his desire to shoot her an evil eye.

Instead, he takes the borrowed child by the shoulders. “This is my nephew, Olivier,” he explains. Blaine raises his eyebrows at the name and Kurt shrugs. “I know. Poor kid, right?” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth, but there is no need, for Olivier is paying no attention. He's lost focus on the conversation and is instead trying to stomp on Santana's exposed toes while she places a hand on his forehead and curses him out in Spanish. “His mother named him after Sir Lawrence Olivier, hoping that he'd one day become a talented actor known for his subtlety and mastery of the craft, but alas, he mostly takes after his father. Which means he likes to crush cereal into the rugs and run around naked.”

Blaine Anderson is laughing again, and his eyes are positively twinkling at Kurt. Twinkling, that's got to be good, right? He leans in a little closer and Kurt can smell his cologne and it's mouth-watering. And so, of course, he continues to babble.

“We just borrowed him,” he says, motioning to Olivier and Santana, the latter now holding the former in something like a headlock. “I mean _brought_ him out to your concert... so he could have fun with his Uncle Kurt, right Olivier?”

Blaine Anderson gives Kurt a small, knowing little smile and Kurt turns to free his nephew from Santana's grasp.

“I want ice cream!” Olivier shrieks. “You said I could have ice cream! And not that tofu crap that Mommy buys either!”

Kurt lets his eyes fall shut and turns to Santana. “Santana! I told you he parrots everything! Rachel is gonna kill me.”

“Eh,” Santana replies with a shrug. “That's what she gets for trusting us with her brat.”

Kurt turns back to Blaine, embarrassed. “Anyway, you have a long line so we won't keep you. It was really lovely to meet you, Blaine.”

“You too, Kurt,” Blaine says. Kurt feels the light brush of fingertips against his shoulder as he bends down to forcefully take Olivier's hand. He gives Blaine Anderson one sad smile over his shoulder, and then he's walking away from the most beautiful man he has ever met.

“Wait, Kurt!” he hears, and turns to see Blaine waving him back.

Kurt steps back in his direction, leaving Olivier in Santana's capable hands for a moment. Blaine looks shy suddenly, and Kurt leans in to hear him. “Um... this might me kind of... Could I maybe get your, ah, number?” he says in a low voice. Kurt can feel Blaine's warm breath against the side of his neck.

He's frozen in place, unsure of what to say, unsure if this is really something that is happening or if he's trapped in one of his elaborate fantasies. He decides that if that is the case, he'll take it, and looks up at Blaine, who seems about a second away from taking back what he just said and apologizing profusely for overstepping.

“Oh, yes,” Kurt says quickly before he does just that. “Of course you can.” He pats himself down, but all he has is his phone and Blaine is, of course, without his. No paper, no pen—nothing.

Just as he's about to give up and cry about this for the rest of his sure to be terribly melancholy and depressing life, Santana tears a piece of paper from a small notepad in her bag and slaps it into Blaine's hand. “Here's his number, stud,” she says, and throws Blaine a wink before pulling Kurt away from him and into the crowd.

“Oh my God, Santana, you're so embarrassing.”

“Whatever. As if I didn't just save the day,” she retorts. They both get a firm grip on Olivier's hands before leaving the arena for the cool evening air. “You're welcome, by the way.”

“You did give him my actual number, right?” She has been known to play practical jokes on him before, especially about guys he likes. Though in each case she'd said those guys were secretly assholes and not to be trusted, and she had been proven correct in every instance.

“Of course I did! What kind of a friend do you think I am? When will you get another chance to meet and then later bang him? Do you think I would deprive you of your one chance to pound your favourite celebrity? It's not like you can steal people's children every time he has a show or something.”

Kurt looks around. “Could you maybe not yell in the street that we stole someone's child please? Jesus.”

**

Upon entering their apartment at the close of the evening, Kurt finds himself in a sticky situation.

“Uncle Kurt, I don't feel so good,” Olivier warns. The warning doesn't come quite soon enough, however, and not a second later he's bent over and throwing up the contents of his stomach all over the mat in the entryway.

Kurt heaves a sigh and gets ready to start scrubbing, and that's when he notices his favourite jeans. “Splash back!” he yells into the apartment.

“What the hell are you flipping your shit about, Lady Hummel?”

“I've got splash back. I need to go soak these. Help?”

With a huff and a hugely exaggerated eye roll, Santana comes and takes Olivier away to lie down, and Kurt dashes into his bedroom, already unbuttoning his jeans.

He tosses his phone on the bed and starts attempting to shimmy them down his legs without touching any of the mess at the bottoms, toeing off his boots at the same time. When he looks down it's lit up on the bed, his phone, the screen bright and an unknown number flashing across. Could it be? No. It must be a telemarketer or a wrong number or—But there is no way in Hades Kurt is leaving it to chance.

Kurt dives for his phone, tripped by the jeans that are down around the bottom of his ass, he stumbles onto the bed.

He hits answer on the screen and presses it to the side of his face. His _hello_ comes out breathless and muffled.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two... Blaine makes a phone call, Kurt takes off his pants, and Cooper comes to visit._

It rings and it rings and it rings... _He's not picking up_ , Blaine thinks to himself. He knew he shouldn't have asked for the guy's number. It was presumptuous of him to assume Kurt came to the show to see him, and not for his nephew like he said. It was _insanely_ idiotic to assume that Kurt liked him, and calling him back was... Something Cooper would have done, frankly, and Blaine spends the better part of his days trying his damnedest not to act like his older brother.

One more ring. Okay, just one more. That guy was just so damn _gorgeous_ , and he dressed so well and his voice was lovely and he was funny... Blaine never meets guys like that in his day to day life. And Blaine could have sworn that Kurt was flirting with him. He _was_. No, he probably wasn't. It was a stupid thing to do, and he's going to hang up. After just one more—

“Hello?” It's definitely Kurt; his voice is unmistakable, but he seems out of breath and like his face is pressed into something.

“Um... Is this Kurt?” Blaine asks, kicking himself for sounding so timid. God, he knows it's Kurt. “It's Blaine Anderson. From the show tonight?”

“Blaine!” Kurt's voice is no longer muffled, but he does still sound winded, and maybe like he's jumping around? “It's so great to hear from you!”

Blaine laughs at the brightness of Kurt's reply and lets himself sink down onto the bed, finally putting an end to his nervous pacing. “Are you sure?” he asks, trying to tease. “You sound like you're struggling.”

Kurt hums into the phone and Blaine can hear something like fabric shifting. “Oh, I'm just trying to take my pants off—Oh my God, not like that! Jesus, now you think I'm a pervert.”

Blaine really laughs now, settling comfortably into his bed and grinning into the distance. He can almost picture it in his mind—Kurt trying to peel those obscenely tight jeans from his long, slender legs. Now that's a vision.

“Really though,” Kurt is saying, “that little shit—I mean, my nephew—he threw up on me. Who knew you shouldn't feed ice cream to children after 9pm?” Kurt forces a laugh, still sounding harried and struggling.

“How about I give you a minute to get out of your pants then? I'll just wait here, okay?” Blaine is actually impressed at the flirtatiousness of his voice. Then he remembers that Kurt said the kid threw up on him, and that might not be the best option. “Unless you need to shower?” And now he's picturing _that_. He shifts on the bed, his own pants feeling suddenly restrictive. He almost makes a comment about removing them as well, but thinks better of it. Definitely too soon.

“I'm—no, it's okay. He didn't get me too bad. It can wait. I'll... um, okay, be right back.”

When Blaine grew impatient as a child, his mother would tell him to sing _Happy Birthday_ under his breath until whatever he was waiting for came to pass. He finds himself doing it now as he waits for Kurt to return and begins to laugh. He claps a hand over the receiver to block his laughter just as Kurt comes back, still sounding out of breath. It makes Blaine grin happily to himself. Kurt must like him to rush like that. Or else he just didn't want to seem rude. Blaine fidgets as he says hello again, worried it's the latter.

“Are you vomit-free?” he asks, and is pleased to hear a tinkling laugh come through the phone in response.

“Yes, quite. Though my favourite jeans aren't in the best condition. I'll have to rush them into the wash.”

“Oh, do you want me to let you go?”

Kurt is quick to reassure him. “No, no. I left them soaking. They'll be fine!”

“Okay, if you're sure then... you should tell me about yourself. What does Kurt Hummel do? That seems like a good place to start.”

“You remembered my last name,” Kurt says in a wondering tone.

“Of course I did. You are pretty unforgettable.”

Kurt laughs breathlessly and hums into the phone. “I, ah, I'm an actor and a singer. Aspiring for Broadway, but no luck as of yet.”

“Oh gosh, that's amazing! I've always wanted to do that, too.” Blaine quiets. The thought sobers him a little. He has about as much chance of a career on Broadway as his brother does. The only songs he will ever perform on stage will be for children.

“Me, too. God, I love musicals! We should go see one sometime.”

Blaine smiles again and lies down on his bed. “Well, that's kind of why I called. I mean, to ask you if you'd maybe go out on a date with me. Maybe Friday night if you're free?”

Blaine's heart is in his throat as he waits for Kurt's answer. Kurt seems very enthusiastic, but you can never know for sure. Maybe Blaine's pseudo-celebrity will turn him off; it has to others before him. Others who weren't nearly so gorgeous and sweet and tempting.

“Of course,” Kurt answers, putting paid to Blaine's worries. “Friday sounds perfect. What did you have in mind?”

Blaine sits upright in bed, chewing on his bottom lip. He has no idea. “I, um... well, I think I should keep that under wraps, don't you? How will I impress you otherwise? Secrecy is imperative.”

Kurt giggles. “So mysterious.” And Blaine nearly wipes his hand across his forehead in relief like he's acting in a silent film. He has a few days to come up with something great.

“Naturally. And so we come to question two: Is Kurt Hummel a native New Yorker?”

“God no. I wish! I grew up in Ohio.”

“Oh, really? Wow. I lived in Ohio until I was fifteen, then we moved here. My parents and older brother are also in the city.”

“My stepbrother lives here now, as I said. Seeing as I had his son at the concert tonight. But my dad and stepmom live in Lima still.”

“And your mom?”

“Oh, she's dead. I mean, she died when I was a kid.”

Blaine feels his heart lodge somewhere near his throat. He feels terrible. Did he sound callous when he asked? “I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to—”

“It's fine, Blaine. Really. It was years ago—”

Blaine can hear someone yelling in the background, cutting Kurt off. “Kurt! Kurt!” It gets louder, closer, and he hears Kurt sigh into the phone. “It's falling asleep on the sofa! Do something about that!”

“Erm... that's my roommate.”

“I remember. Sounds like she needs you.”

“Yeah. I suppose I should get some clothes on and go see about my nephew.”

Blaine goes from disappointed that Kurt has to go, to very, er, _interested_ in a flash. “Clothes? Are you not wearing... anything?” He swallows and rearranges himself on the bed.

Kurt's laugh is enticing. “Well, a little bit. But not enough to be seen in respectable company.”

“Oh, um... I see.” Blaine is just about to say that he's not respectable company when Kurt's roommate yells his name again. She sounds like she's standing right next to him. Blaine has to pull his ear away from the phone to save his hearing.

“Santana,” Kurt mutters, sounding chastising.

“She seemed a little bit scary,” Blaine tells him. “Maybe I should let you go now.”

Kurt obviously doesn't want to stop talking to Blaine and that makes Blaine ridiculously happy. He can't wait until Friday night so he can see Kurt again. “Okay, Blaine,” he says. “I'll see you on Friday I guess.”

“Right. At eight.”

“Perfect.”

Before Kurt can hang up, Blaine quickly blurts out, “Can I text you?”

“Of course,” Kurt replies, a smile in his voice. “I would love that.”

Blaine has too much energy; he stands up from his bed and begins pacing the room again. “Okay, great. I'll talk to you soon, Kurt.”

“Goodnight, Blaine,” Kurt says.

“Goodnight, Kurt.”

Before Blaine turns out the lights later that night, he pulls his phone off of the nightstand and debates whether or not it's too soon to send Kurt a text. He types and deletes it five times before he bites the bullet and hits send.

**

Blaine is rinsing off his toothbrush the next morning when he hears some shuffling coming from the living area of his apartment. He turns off the tap and pauses, ear in the direction of the door. He hears something fall and a low curse and his heart picks up speed. There is nothing he can use as a weapon, he realizes, glancing quickly around the bathroom. He grabs the plunger from behind the toilet and holds it up in the air, thinking he's glad that it's brand new, or he'd feel guilty hitting even a burglar in the face with it.

He turns the doorknob silently and slinks into the hallway, then tiptoes his way to the living room and then towards the kitchen.

And there is an intruder there in Blaine's kitchen, though he's not stealing valuables, just going through the cupboards looking for snacks.

“Cooper, what have I said—repeatedly—about you letting yourself into my apartment without so much as knocking?”

Cooper turns with a bag of almonds in his hand and gives Blaine a wide, toothy show smile. “Well, you gave me a key—”

“For _emergencies_ —”

“And why are you brandishing a plunger? What sort of weapon is a _plunger_? Blainey, Blainey, Blainey. Did the stage fighting workshop I signed you up for teach you _nothing_?”

“That was not a workshop, it was some drunk friend of yours bragging about being an extra in _The Three Musketeers_ for four hours—”

“He _was_ in _The Three Musketeers_... You know, I almost landed the role of D'Artagnan in that adaptation.”

Blaine rolls his eyes and lets his plunger fall to the floor. “Not actually the point, Coop. As usual, you have missed it by a couple dozen miles.”

“What's got you all worked up anyway, Squirt?” Cooper pauses for a moment, an almond suspended in the air in front of his mouth. He lets it fall back into the open bag and looks around the room. “Wait a second... Do you have a guy here?” His excitement at Blaine's imagined hookup makes Blaine warm with embarrassment.

“No I don't have a—Not that it would be any of your business if I _did_ , but I don't, so...”

Cooper's face falls as though he himself has been denied a potential lover. “Blaine, you have really got to get out there, little brother. What's the point of being all handsome and moderately famous if you aren't getting a little nookie on account of that?”

“Cooper, seriously? That's just—Please never speak to me again.”

Cooper pushes away the bag of almonds and walks around the kitchen island. “Hey, I'm not trying to be crass! I worry about you, Blainey. I really do. It's an older brother's job, is it not?” He clasps Blaine's shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. Blaine has the urge to shake his hand off, but he leaves it there.

“I'm perfectly fine, Coop. And actually, I do have a date on Friday night, so stop worrying, okay? I'm not turning into a monk or anything.”

Cooper's eyes go round and he grins. “Ooh, who's the guy?”

Blaine is pulled in by his brother's enthusiasm, likely against his better judgement. He returns Cooper's grin. “His name is Kurt.”

“And? What does this mysterious Kurt _do_?”

“He's an aspiring Broadway actor.”

Cooper's eyes dim and his smile all but disappears. He begins shaking his head and gives Blaine's shoulder another squeeze, somehow managing to make it feel sombre this time as opposed to encouraging. “Uh oh. Diva city. Broadway's where the catty ones live, Blaine. Run away.”

Blaine rolls his eyes and backs away, Cooper's hand falling from his shoulder. “Because that's not a generalization or anything.” Why can't Cooper ever just be happy for him when something good happens? It's always: there's something wrong with that guy or that role or that restaurant that you've decided is your new favourite. And of course Cooper's real issue with Broadway and its performers is that he had no luck getting a big break there, though he tried for a few years before giving up and settling for doing commercials, then later got his role on the soap opera he's currently starring in.

Cooper looks uncomfortable now. He knows Blaine is upset with him and he detests confrontations or any other such instances where he's forced to show real emotions as opposed of his poor replications of them. “Could it be a... _broad_ generalization?” He laughs at his own stupid joke and Blaine rolls his eyes again.

“Oh, God... Why are you here again? I don't have any good food or any juicy gossip, and there are no cameras around for you to pose for—”

“Hey, can't a guy pay a visit to his baby brother without accusations of vanity or busybody-ness? I just wanted to see you, Blaine.”

Blaine feels his raised hackles fall at his brother's big puppy dog eyes and Cooper sees it, catches it the exact moment that it happens, the moment Blaine gives in to him as usual. He renews his smile and moves in closer to throw a jovial arm around Blaine's shoulders. “So tell me more about this quite possibly, but not necessarily, catty Kurt,” he says.

Blaine sighs quietly. “He's originally from Ohio like we are, and he's funny and gorgeous and dresses like a dream and has a slightly scary roommate. I don't know a whole lot about him yet.”

“Ohio boy?” Cooper has a wondering expression on his face as he hugs Blaine against his body. “That could work in his favour.”

“How about you let me finish getting ready and I tell you the rest over brunch?”

Cooper grins and slaps Blaine on the back. “It's like you're reading my mind, Squirt!”

“And you said you didn't come over looking for food,” Blaine mutters as he walks back inside to his bedroom to grab a cardigan.

“What was that, Blainey?”

“Nothing, Coop. Just wondering what sort of food you feel like for brunch!” Blaine calls back.

“Not sure yet, but I'm picking! You always choose the weirdest places.”

Blaine heaves another sigh and pulls a cardigan out of his wardrobe, not even checking to be sure it matches his outfit before going back out to meet his brother.

**

Cooper chooses a bistro with outdoor seating, even though the weather is on the chilly side for the last week of August, the wind gusting and blowing dust and garbage onto the sidewalk. Blaine hates going out to eat with his brother for this very reason—he doesn't give a damn about privacy. The more people who wander by and take a photo of them with their camera phones, the better in Cooper's eyes. He always texts Blaine links to the pictures online the next day, or sends him copies of soap opera magazines containing paparazzi photos of the two of them. There is no aspect of his celebrity that Cooper doesn't adore. Blaine tries to be amused, but it gets to him after a while. He sometimes feels the need to hide in his apartment for a few days after reading the comments on photos that are posted of the two of them online. Attention of that sort embarrasses Blaine. He wants people to like him due to his talent, not his looks. And certainly not because they are entertaining simply traumatizing thoughts about him and Cooper together. He wants to build a blanket fort in his bed and hide in it forever just thinking about their comments. But then blanket forts remind him of his childhood and Cooper again and _ugh_ —it's a vicious circle.

Cooper finishes grinning for a lady with an iPhone pointed at him and turns to Blaine. “What's that face about? You look like you're going to puke and you haven't even eaten anything yet.”

“Nothing, Coop. Just remembering something horrible.”

Cooper looks away again to flash his pearly whites at the waitress as she brings them menus and pours them each a glass of iced water. After he has offered his thanks and winked at the girl until she stumbled away, red-faced and practically swooning, he turns his attention back on Blaine. “I've got some pretty amazing news, Blainey.” He leans across the table, his eyes flashing conspiratorially. He looks around at the nearby tables before whispering, “Charlie is getting engaged to Portia van der Veen.”

“Who?”

Cooper's smile fades and a furrow appears between his perfectly groomed eyebrows. “My character on _Diamonds in the Rough_ , Blaine. Geez. I swear you don't even watch my work, do you? It's a travesty. Do you even know how popular I am? How many online awards I've won because of this role?”

Blaine leans forward to reassure his brother. His feelings seem to actually be hurt, which is a rarity. “Yes, Coop, I am aware. You text me links and periodic 'don't forget to vote' reminders every time you're nominated. And I'm sorry. I do know your character's name, I swear. I'm just a little distracted today.”

Cooper sits back in his chair and clucks his tongue. “Oh, because of _Kurt_.”

“Well, yes. And as much as I hate to admit it, I kind of need your help.”

“Even with such a terrible lead in, of course I'm here for you, Squirt.” He lays his hands on the table top, palms down and tilts his head to one side. “But only after I get the proper reaction to the spoiler I just told you.” Blaine rolls his eyes and Cooper begins drumming his fingertips on the table. “I'm waiting.”

“Fine...” Blaine puts on a bright smile. “Oh my God, Cooper! That's amazing! Patricia—”

“Portia.”

“—is such a popular character! It's sure to be—”

“Just like Romeo and Juliet, yes. It most certainly will be. Now, that could have used a bit more pep. Also more pointing. I did like the way you made your eyes all wide, though you can't really help that, can you?” He shakes his head. “And you're the one who went to school for drama.”

Blaine huffs a little and sits back in his seat. “Right. Now that you've finished critiquing my performance, can we talk about my date?”

“I'm all ears.” And yet he looks down and begins flipping through his menu.

“You're not even paying attention, Cooper.”

“It's called multitasking, kiddo. You should do it too, because our lovely waitress is standing over there waiting for us to choose what we want.”

Blaine nods and begins to distractedly read the same menu item over and over until it sinks in. Waldorf salad. Sure, that sounds fine. He closes his menu and pushes it to the side. “He asked me where I was taking him. Kurt, I mean. And I had no clue, so I played the mysterious card. Now I need to make it good, or he's going to think I'm completely lame for not just telling him when he asked, you know? I was thinking I would take him to a show, but I want to get to know him, and I can't do that if we have to sit and watch and can't talk to each other. So—what do I do? I need ideas.”

Cooper closes his menu and places it on top of Blaine's with a dramatic sigh, then sits back in his chair and points at Blaine. “Well, you are in quite the little pickle, aren't you, baby brother? I think your problem is that you care far too much. It's a first date and you're famous. You're sure to get laid no matter where you take him. Just skip the trouble and invite him over to your place. Or better yet, go to his, in case it's terrible and you don't want him to know where you live.”

The waitress shows up just as Cooper is finishing his insane diatribe and Blaine feels his face warm when she looks down at him with what he assumes is judgement. The last thing he wants is for a stranger—or anyone, come to that—to think he's that sort of person.

After they've placed their orders and the waitress and her misguided judgement have gone back inside, Blaine does his own pointing.

“Coop, I am not that guy, okay? I don't expect sex on the first date, and I sure as hell don't want guys to sleep with me because I'm on a television show. God, I would actually like to have a relationship, you know? And Kurt is—Well, he seemed really special. I want to get to know him. And if it leads to more, I am totally okay with that.”

Cooper waggles his eyebrows and takes a drink of his water. “Okay, okay, Blainey, I get it. Just let me think for a second.” He takes another drink from his glass and then sets it back on the table. Blaine can hear him humming under his breath as he paints on the glass with his fingertips, running them up and down through the condensation. After a moment he looks up with a grin and snaps his fingers. “I got it! Something simple, yet romantic. Something Charlie and Portia have coming up in a scene I'm filming on Thursday, actually. A picnic! It's perfect, if a little bit cliché. Afterwards you can go for a walk. That way you can get to know him all you want.”

“That's actually a pretty good idea, Coop.”

“What's with the tone of surprise? I've wooed hundreds of ladies. I'm the king of the woo. Picnic, romantic stroll, roll in the sheets. Killer date.”

Blaine heaves a sigh but that's the only response he's able to give, for the waitress is back with their salads.

As he's taking a bite of apple and walnut, Blaine wonders if Kurt enjoys things like picnics and walks through the park. He certainly hopes so. He will have to check the weather forecast to be sure it's a viable option for Friday.

“I have the card of a great catering company somewhere in here,” Cooper says, beginning to search through his wallet. “I met the girl who runs it at a party—quite the, ah, conversationalist, if you know what I mean.” He throws Blaine a wink and Blaine shakes his head, and then his hands at the card that Cooper has found. He doesn't need it.

“I'd rather make everything myself. It'll be more special that way.”

Cooper shakes his head. “The only things you can cook are that surprise casserole—the surprise being that it's actually edible—and that pasta thing with the seafood. Oh, and you bake a mean cookie, I'll give you that.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Coop. I think I can figure something out.”

He feels his phone vibrate and he pulls it out of his pocket.

**Kurt**   
_My jeans are just fine, thank you for your concern. It's nice to meet another man who worries about the welfare of fine men's fashion. My dreams were ever so sweet. Hopes yours were the same! ;)_

And maybe Blaine does have hopes that the date on Friday will go just as Cooper described. Not that he's saying anything of the sort to Cooper. Absolutely not.


	3. Chapter 3

_Three... Kurt has first date jitters, Blaine knows what he wants, and Santana is inappropriate._

The text messages began arriving the night they met, starting with: _Sweet dreams. I can't wait to see you again. PS I hope your jeans are okay, they were perfect on you_ , and getting increasingly adorable from there. If Kurt thought he had a schoolboy crush on Blaine Anderson before the week began, it has gotten much worse since the night of the concert.

He's been trying to figure out what exactly to wear all week, but since Blaine won't tell him what they're doing, he doesn't know what to choose. Now it's the day before and he's beginning to panic. He decides to try again.

**Kurt**   
_So... what sort of outfit does one wear on a first date with Blaine Anderson?_

**Blaine**   
_Hmm... Whatever you pick will be amazing I'm sure. ;)_

Kurt lets out a growl and throws the shirt he's been contemplating onto his bed. His closet door stands open, shirts and pants and sweaters all over the place. He stands and stares at the mess, sighing. If Blaine wasn't so damn cute he would be pissed.

He knows it's stupid—Santana has told him so at least fifteen times just in case he wasn't aware—but he wants to look incredible. Blaine is obviously the sort of guy who looks incredible all of the time and without any real effort—which is completely unfair, but it is what it is. At least Kurt gets to reap the benefits by getting to look at him, but—Well, he wants to look like he belongs on a date with Blaine. Like they fit together, and not just in his wildest dreams, but in reality, at a restaurant or movie or wherever the hell Blaine is taking him. _Where are they going?_ God, it's driving him crazy!

He wants to text Blaine again and tell him that if he doesn't let him in on the location of their date, he may not have a date that's all there by the time Friday rolls around, but luckily Santana arrives home before he gets the chance. He has buried his phone under more shirts and is bending over searching it out when she comes into his room and whistles.

“Great ass, Jane Fonda. Are those implants, or have you been working out?”

Kurt straightens and turns to face her. “ _Buns of Steel_. Thanks for noticing.”

She smirks at him and looks around at the clothes carnage. “Are you still stressing about what to wear to meet Mr. Rogers? I told you—who cares what's on top as long as you've got something naughty underneath. Or even better—nothing at all.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “My underwear is not really the concern, Santana. But thanks for _attempting_ to be helpful at least.”

“Underwear is always the concern when you're going on a date.” She walks over to his dresser and slides open the top drawer, rifling through the contents. She comes out with the tiniest pair of underwear Kurt owns—a skimpy red thong. He wonders where he even got it for a moment before remembering a pair of pants that he used to have in his wardrobe. The lines showed when he wore them with any of his regular underwear. But those pants went out of style two seasons ago and he'd long gotten rid of them. Unfortunately not so for the thong.

“I am not wearing that.”

“Why the hell not?” She spins her finger in the air, twirling the underwear around and around. “Why do you have it if you're not gonna use it to show off your assets?”

“Because it is uncomfortable and only necessary under certain types of pants, which I no longer have in my wardrobe, thankfully.” He snatches the thong from her hand and tosses it into the trashcan next to his desk.

“Commando it is then,” Santana says with a smirk, then turns and begins sorting through the pile of clothes on Kurt's bed. “Imma help you pick out something sexy and not fluttery and gay like what you wore the last time you went on a date.”

“That was a very trendy outfit I'll have you know!”

“Fluttery and gay.”

“Shut up! What do you know about men's fashion anyway?”

Santana pulls out a pair of Kurt's jeans and holds them up for inspection. “And did you get laid on that gay, fluttery date? Hmm?”

“I wasn't trying to!” He snatches the jeans from her hands. “These are actually a good choice. They hug my legs and ass.”

She shrugs and turns back to the pile of clothes, searching through tops this time. “Whatever. I'm a good friend and I know how badly you want to get all up on that boy. So wear this.” She hands him a nice button up in a light blue-green tone. “It brings out your eyes,” she says. “And feel free to wear one of those weird old fashion-y scarf-tie hybrid things. They look kinda nice on you.” She shrugs again when Kurt takes the shirt and stares at her with his mouth hanging open. “What? I can't help out? I need you to get some ass nearly as bad as you need that ass. You've been so damn uptight lately that I want to shake you. I mean it—if you reorganize the cabinets in the kitchen or the bathroom one more time, it's gonna come to slapping.”

Kurt nods and goes to look through his ascots. “Um... thanks, Santana.”

“Sure, whatever. Pizza's on you tonight, by the way.”

Kurt hides his grin from her. “Uh huh. Go ahead and order.”

**

Kurt goes out shopping the next morning in the off chance that he might find an even better outfit, or maybe a nice brooch to match the outfit he's got hanging on the back of his bedroom door, all ready for his date the following night.

He stops to take a break from shopping after his visit to Sephora—always a tiring experience what with all the choice of products—and sits down in a coffee shop with a piping hot mocha. He's playing on his phone when he catches Blaine out of the corner of his eye. A little girl is sitting on a chair next to her mother watching an episode of _Somewhere in the World_ on a tablet. He tries to watch along without _looking_ like he's watching along.

It's the episode where Blaine visits the Netherlands. Kurt recognizes his lemon yellow pants and his gorgeous watercolour bowtie, and of course the scene where Blaine runs through a field of tulips, singing _Op een grote paddestoel_. The little girl is wearing earbuds, but Kurt could still sing along if he didn't mind drawing a whole lot of unwanted attention to himself. He finds himself tapping his foot and moving his head to the remembered melody, a smile on his face as he sips his drink. An animated butterfly floats down to land on Blaine's shoulder and he looks at it with wide and blinking eyes, his mouth open in awe. Across the screen the Dutch word for butterfly—VLINDER—bounces in brightly coloured letters. Blaine stays as still as a statue until it flies away, then smiles and gives the camera a wink. Kurt finds himself blushing. Blaine Anderson.... such a charmer, even from the ten inch screen of a tablet all the way across a coffee shop.

**

When Kurt opens the door after only one knock (and at 8pm sharp, which pleases him greatly), Blaine emerges from behind an enormous bouquet of deep red roses with a brilliant smile on his face.

Kurt stumbles over a breathless thank you, taking the roses and trying to keep the drool from running out of his mouth like water from a faucet. Blaine looks _amazing_. Sure, Santana would say he's wearing clothes like her grandpa's grandpa, but he owns his style. He's dressed all in monochrome tonight— variations of grey: his shirt, his sweater vest, his bowtie, and his perfectly fitted trousers, which Kurt notices hug his ass deliciously as he rounds the corner into Kurt's kitchen. Kurt forces himself to turn away and find a vase for his bouquet.

“Thank you again, Blaine. They're lovely,” he says as he arranges the flowers and leans in to take a sniff of their sweet blooms. 

Blaine smiles and looks down with adorable bashfulness.

“Well, well, well.” Santana is stalking into the room with an evil smirk on her face. Kurt shoves the last few stems into the vase and slides it to the side.

“Santana—”

“Hello again,” Blaine greets her with a smile. “Kurt's helpful friend who carries stationery supplies. I should have brought along some thank you flowers for you as well, I suppose. I'll be sure to remember next time.”

Santana raises her eyebrows. “Next time, huh?” She turns to Kurt with a hand on her hip. “He's awfully sure of himself.”

Kurt forces a laugh and reaches out to grab Santana by the forearm. “I'll be right back, Blaine,” he says, and hustles her out of the kitchen.

“You said you would make yourself scarce. That's a direct quote!” he chastises in hushed tones.

She rolls her eyes and pries Kurt's fingers from her arm. “Oh relax. I didn't do anything. But you had better, sweet cheeks. He's already planning future dates, and you know what that means.”

“What the hell are you—”

“And did you see that ass? That thing is not a single meal, it's a whole freaking buffet.”

Kurt shushes her, then looks at her with narrowed eyes, head tilted to one side. She does have a point there... “So what if that's true—you can't just say things like that about my date.”

“Since when? Whatever, you can tell me all about it tomorrow, Foppy Joe.” She places one hand on his back and one on his waist and shoves him back towards the kitchen. “Enjoy your buffet,” she says with a waggle of her eyebrows, licks her lips lasciviously, and walks down the hall to her bedroom. Kurt waits until her door clicks shut, then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He's going on a date with Blaine Anderson. He has dreamt about this very thing for over a year, and he's not going to let Santana make him any more nervous than he already is. He can do this.

“Sorry about that, Blaine.” He's pleased to find that his voice sounds calm, serene even when he re-enters the kitchen. He picks up his jacket from where he had hung it over the back of a chair. “Shall we?”

“Of course.” Blaine takes the jacket gently from his hands and holds it up for him to slip into. “And what you're wearing is perfect, by the way,” he leans in to whisper, just as Kurt is sliding his arm into the sleeve. He slides in his second arm and feels Blaine's warm hands smooth the fabric over his shoulders. “Just perfect,” Blaine repeats.

As they exit Kurt's building, Blaine leads them to the right and does nothing but grin when Kurt asks him where they are going. “It's not far,” he reassures, then leads on.

Blaine brings up Kurt's show, asking about parts he's played in the past, to which Kurt can't answer with much more than a groan. “I've had a few lines, but I've been a chorus boy more times than I can count. And been turned down as a chorus boy even more than that.”

“Well, at least you're doing what you love,” Blaine says, tipping his head to look up at Kurt through his eyelashes, which is so damn darling that Kurt wants to grab his handsome face and land a smooch on those full, pink lips.

“I suppose,” Kurt replies after he's gotten over the urge. “Though some day I would like to actually work on Broadway, as opposed to _off off off_ the way I have been.”

They pass a poster, an advertisement for _Transgressors_ and Blaine's smile brightens. He points at it and Kurt wants to groan. “I loved that show! Have you seen it?” And of course Kurt has seen it. More times than any other show; even more times than he's watched the damn _Sound of Music_.

“Yeah, my best friend was the originator of the lead role,” he says, smile plastered on his face. It's not that he's not proud of Rachel, but...

“Rachel Berry is your best friend? Wow!”

There's always that.

He nods and looks down at his boots.“The stage mother of my nephew that I was telling you about after the concert? That's her. She married my stepbrother.”

“Huh. That could get awkward. Your best friend and your stepbrother.”

Kurt shrugs. He's never really thought about it. “We've all known each other since high school. I suppose it's been long enough that the weirdness has worn off. Rachel and I even once fought over him, before he was my stepbrother mind you. We've always had our little competitions and rivalries, Rachel and I. Which she generally wins. Especially the professional ones, and she loves to rub that in my face.”

Kurt looks back at the poster, remembering when Rachel won the role, and then later the Tony for it. “I've tried to explain to her that it's harder for me to break into the business, being unique like I am, which she took as me saying that she wasn't _also_ unique—didn't speak to me for a whole week after that one—when I was only pointing out that there aren't a whole lot of roles for a guy like me. And I don't want to spend my career playing the gay sidekick character—I do that enough in real life with her. I want something better than that. I want diversity and intrigue and great songs.

“I'm actually going to audition for the revival of _Cabaret_ that's happening soon. Rachel is jealous because she's in a contract and she can't. She's always been obsessed with the idea of playing Sally Bowles.” Kurt chuckles a little, then realizes he's probably coming across like an ass and stops himself. “But I love Rachel. We've always dreamed of playing opposite each other in a slightly gender-bent production of _Wicked_. She's like a sister to me.... Sorry, I'm babbling,” he adds when he looks up and sees how many blocks they've walked since he began speaking.

Blaine smiles, shaking his head. “No, please continue. I like it—your babbling. It's very pleasant babbling.”

Kurt laughs and reaches for Blaine's arm, lifting it up enough that he can thread his own through it. “I'm sure,” he says. “I _am_ a professional babbler.”

Blaine grins and moves closer, and Kurt can feel his body heat, is warmed by it in the early evening chill. “I know how hard it can be,” Blaine says. “Having someone close to you be famous, be it a best friend in your case, or a sibling in mine.”

“I could pretend to be shocked, but I know Cooper Anderson is your brother. Sorry. And now I sound like an internet stalker or something.”

Blaine laughs again and Kurt grins at him, pleased with himself. “No you don't. It's fine. It's not like it isn't common knowledge or anything. If you knew that I have a birthmark shaped a little bit like a starfish on my inner thigh, then I might have cause to worry.”

“Well...” Kurt says with teasing bite to his lip. Blaine laughs again and Kurt elbows him lightly in the side. “But why a starfish and not just a star?”

Blaine shrugs. “Just something Cooper always used to say when I was a kid.” He pauses for a moment, looking up at the pinkening sky. “It is sort of weird now that I think about it. I'll have to ask him. He is Cooper though, so his reasoning will probably not be all that sound.”

“Who needs sound reasoning when you look like that though, am I right? Rachel has had the biggest crush on him for years, oh my God. But well, who doesn't?” Kurt looks down to see Blaine isn't enjoying this particular topic of conversation. And didn't Blaine just finish commiserating with him about the difficulties of having a famous, adored sibling? _Fuuuck_. “Oh, no, I didn't mean _me_. That I have a—I meant my girlfriends. That is, my friends who are girls. Not like, _girlfriends_ —”

Blaine puts Kurt out of his misery before he can shove his foot any farther down his throat. He stops in front of a tall, brick building and gives Kurt a gentle smile. “We're here,” he says.

Kurt follows him into the building and into the elevator, where Blaine takes out a little plastic keycard like a hotel gives out. He swipes it in a slot on the elevator wall and pushes a button marked with a large R. “Do you live here?” Kurt asks as the elevator takes them up.

Blaine shakes his head. “A friend of mine. He owed me a favour.”

When they step out of the elevator into a dark, low-ceilinged, oppressive sort of hallway, Blaine asks Kurt to wait and ducks out through a beat up metal door. Kurt feels the beginnings of the twilight breeze waft in, but it is soon cut off as the door slams shut behind Blaine.

He waits for a minute or two, rocking back and forth on his heels and trying not to be impatient. As much as Kurt loves surprises—the excitement and romance and glamour of it all—he hates them in equal measure. He likes to be in charge of his own destiny. He likes to be constantly in the know.

Blaine pops his head back through the door, a mischievous smile making his eyes sparkle. He beckons Kurt towards him with an outstretched hand, which Kurt gladly accepts. He is led through the ugly, imperfect door, and what lies beyond it... it's like he crossed over into another realm. From dark, dowdy hallway to this magnificence... They're on the roof, which, duh, _**R**_ , he should have figured that out for himself, but Blaine has really, really outdone himself.

There are tiny white lights all around the railings and the trellis that surrounds the rooftop garden and what appears to be a hot tub, with fluffy white towels rolled up and waiting in a basket on the stone ledge. The lights trail around the pole of a large umbrella and through its posts in the shape of a star. Beneath that there is a gorgeously laid out table, complete with place settings, flowers, and a picnic basket. Everything is warm and inviting, what with the lights and the setting sun. Kurt has never seen anything so romantic in his life.

“Oh my God, it's beautiful!” he gasps, and a smiling Blaine takes his hand and leads him over to the table, dropping it only when it's time to pull out Kurt's chair. Kurt seats himself, examining the lovely handcrafted plates and elegant wine glasses and chic napkin holders. Blaine had thought of everything.

“Don't let the table fool you,” Blaine says, pulling the picnic basket over so he is able to open it and reach inside. “What I've brought for dinner isn't fancy in the least.”

He pulls out several small containers and then a larger one, opening the top to reveal two wrapped sandwiches on triangular bread. “I tried to make something more complicated,” he says, “but I'm afraid it was a flop. So sandwiches it is.”

“What is a picnic without sandwiches?” The air is growing cooler as the sun all but disappears, but Kurt is warmed by the wattage of Blaine's smile as he places one of the wrapped sandwiches on Kurt's plate.

“I should never have even attempted something as complicated as the dish I destroyed earlier. I know my talents, and cooking is unfortunately not one of them.”

“Oh, I'm sure you have numerous other talents that more than make up for your inability to cook.” Kurt is glad for the low light, because he can feel the flush on his cheeks. Everything that comes out of his mouth sounds like vague innuendo, and he's not even trying. But Blaine is looking down at his plate with a pleased little smile on his lips, so it can't be all bad.

He opens another larger container and begins to put together a salad with the items from the smaller ones with deft hands, and Kurt is distracted from unwrapping his sandwich. “Do you play the piano?” he asks without thinking, and Blaine glances up from the strawberries he was about to add to the top of his salad. “You have very nice hands.”

Blaine spreads his fingers and studies them before shrugging. “Oh, I... yes I do play. And thank you. I've never been told that before.”

“It's weird, isn't it? God, I sound like I have a fetish. Now you're going to worry about waking up in a strange place, not knowing how you got there, and with a fresh manicure.”

Blaine bursts out laughing and passes Kurt the newly constructed salad. “No, I don't think you have a hand fetish. However, I _do_ think you're ridiculously adorable.”

“Well, I have never been told _that_ before.”

“Then there is something very wrong with the people you surround yourself with, because you should be told all the time.”

Kurt shakes his head fondly as Blaine reaches back into the basket, this time retrieving a bottle of wine. “White okay?”

Kurt nods and adds some salad to his plate as Blaine fills their glasses. When he sets the bottle back on the table, Kurt catches him adjusting his bowtie. It looks like a nervous gesture and Kurt hides a smile.

“By the way,” he says, “since I failed to mention it earlier—that outfit is stunning. Both in general and on you. It's nice to see that the bowties aren't just a character thing.”

Blaine smiles and touches the tie again. “Oh—yes. Those are all me. I went into my audition wearing one and they loved it. In fact, my whole wardrobe on the show is inspired by, well, my actual wardrobe. Sometimes Lisa from costumes asks me to bring in things of my own that she's seen me wear.”

“That just goes to show what a sharp dresser you are.”

“Me? What about you? You look—I mean, the night of the concert you looked amazing, and tonight again. God, it's like you were made to wear clothes.”

It's Kurt's turn to break up laughing. “I have been a bit obsessed with fashion since I was very young. My mother had a subscription to _Vogue_ and she used to let me have her old issues once she'd finished reading them. I would cut out all of the bits and pieces of outfits I liked and glue them together in my scrapbooks in what I thought were better variations. I would never do anything so blasphemous as cutting up a _Vogue_ now.”

Blaine grins across from him and takes a sip of wine. “I love _Vogue_ , too. I used to steal my mother's and read them on the sly until I was old enough to sneakily buy my own. I've been subscribing ever since I moved out on my own.”

“Me, too.” Blaine has dug into his salad, so it no longer feels rude to start eating. Kurt picks up his sandwich and takes a bite, only to have it fall apart in his hands. He can feel something smeared across his cheek and has the urge to laugh. Blaine looks mortified.

“God, I'm so sorry! The sandwiches—what a mess! I threw them together so quickly because I was worried about being late.” He comes around the side of the table with his napkin in hand, hastily unrolling it. He begins to wipe mustard very gently from Kurt's cheek. “I'm so bad at this sort of thing. I grew up with catered meals and maids—it didn't really do well to prepare me for the real world.”

“The real world of proper sandwich construction?”

Blaine lets out a laugh that is no more than a giggle and swipes his napkin once more across Kurt's cheek and down to his chin. The little twinkle lights are shining like stars in his wide, pretty eyes and Kurt thinks he would give just about anything to kiss him. “Or maybe I did it on purpose so I would get to do this,” he says, his voice quieter now, as he wipes off Kurt's chin and smiles. Kurt thinks that maybe he's going to do it, maybe Blaine is going to lean down and kiss him, but all too soon he's moving away, saying, “I'm afraid I'm not really the evil mastermind type.” And Kurt laughs, trying not to sound disappointed.

The conversation is pleasant and easy, and Kurt feels as though he's known Blaine for years. The anxiety he's felt all week leading up to tonight melts away as they eat and drink and laugh together.

“Well, the sandwich was delicious,” Kurt says, as he finishes his last bite. “Even if it was a little messy. And I think it's sweet that you made everything yourself. My dad always says that the best and most appreciated gift is a handmade one. Probably wished he could take it back after all the ties and pocket squares I used to sew him for Father's Day, his birthday, Christmas...”

Blaine chuckles, reaching into the picnic basket again. “Not quite everything,” he says. “The only dessert I can manage on my own is cookies, and that seemed more like something you'd bring to a playdate.” Kurt almost makes a crack, almost whines, “ _we aren't going to play?_ ” But he thinks better of it, and his inner Santana gives him a swift kick.

“I sweet talked a lady at work into making this for me. She made it for my birthday earlier this year and it's fantastic.” He pulls the lid off a square Tupperware container and shows Kurt a large slice of what appears to be cheesecake with pistachios on top.

“Okay, who have you interrogated to learn all my secrets? Because cheesecake and pistachios are two of my favourite things in the whole entire world.” _Also bowties and romance and your face…_

“Really? Well I guess that's lucky for both of us then.” Blaine grins across the table at him and Kurt has the urge to kiss him again. The urge times a million. Instead he takes the dessert fork Blaine is holding out and digs into the cake.

“Oh my God,” he moans. “It's _lemon_. Lemon and pistachio. Who was the angel who baked this?”

Blaine squirms in his chair. “Um... wow. You're really passionate about cheesecake.”

Kurt takes another forkful and lets it melt on his tongue. It's tart and yet sweet, with a hint of saltiness and the perfect consistency. God. He really is passionate about cheesecake. He nods. “Fuck, this is so damn good.”

Blaine clears his throat and squirms again. “I'll, um, make sure to compliment the, ah, chef.”

Kurt moans his response and takes another bite, wondering why Blaine isn't joining him. He can finish the entire piece if necessary—really, he doesn't mind—but he's pretty sure they're meant to be sharing.

He's about to mention it, after just one more bite, when he feels something cold and wet smack him in the face. And then another something. “Shit!” Blaine exclaims from across the table. “Not this!”

The rain begins to come down, quickly changing from drops to sheets. Kurt slaps the lid over the cheesecake and holds it to his chest as Blaine jumps up from his seat and tries to huddle under the umbrella. Unfortunately it seems to have sprung several leaks, which is not Blaine's only problem, Kurt notices as he stands. Something else is standing, too, tenting Blaine's fitted grey trousers. Well, he supposes he was making some pretty pornographic noises at the cheesecake.

“So much for the hot tub,” Blaine says forlornly and Kurt pouts out his lips in sympathy.

“It's okay.”

Blaine nods and holds out his hand for Kurt just as there is a bang and a spitting sound. The lights go out and Kurt can smell the sharp scent of smoke. Blaine curses again and runs over near the door. “Artie said those extension cords were for outside,” he grumbles as he pulls the plug from the socket and motions Kurt over so they can duck inside out of the rain.

“I'm so sorry,” Blaine says again as they wait for the elevator. “I've been checking the forecast every five minutes all week and they were not calling for rain tonight.”

Kurt shakes his head and reaches out with his free hand to squeeze Blaine's arm. “Blaine, you can't control the weather. It's okay.”

The elevator pings and the doors open and they shuffle inside. “The first night I meet you, you get vomited on. The second night, you get drenched. You'll never want to see me again in protection of your poor wardrobe, amazing as it is.”

Kurt throws Blaine a wink. “Well, thank you. As much as I love my clothes, I'm pretty sure you're worth it.”

They get off the elevator on the tenth floor and Blaine leads him down the hall to apartment 1011, rummaging through his pockets. He heaves a sigh after a moment and knocks his head against the apartment door. Kurt can barely make out his words as the come out muffled against the wood. “I forgot the key.”

Kurt tries to be sweet and helpful, he really wants to be, but the entire situation just isn't allowing it. Instead, he snorts a laugh, which quickly turns into a fit of giggles. Blaine joins in, his shoulders shaking and his head banging slightly against the door. Kurt hears him groan once they've quieted down and he turns, his head and shoulders sliding over the door until his back is to it. He blinks up at Kurt with the biggest, most forlorn eyes he has ever witnessed. “You are so fucking precious,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “Come on, Bambi, it's gonna be okay.” He taps the Tupperware container he's still got clutched to his chest and winks. “I saved the cake. We're in New York City. There are hundreds of things we can do, rain or no rain. So let's go.”

“You saved the cake.” Blaine smirks up at him.

“This cake is laced with actual nectar from the Gods and we are going to devour it and gain their powers. Also, there should be coffee.”

Blaine's shoulders shake with laughter and he pulls himself away from the door. “All right. Lead on, Apollo.”

They buy an umbrella from a street vendor and huddle under it all the way to a run-down looking coffee shop. As small and unappealing as the place appears, it is still full to the brim of people trying to get out of the unexpected rain.

As Kurt and Blaine grapple over who should go save a seat while the other waits in the long line to buy the coffees— “ _Well, I invited you out, so I should get it. No, you already did everything else, just go sit down_ ”—a huge, burly guy with a neatly trimmed beard and an outfit like something Kurt's dad would wear comes up to them with a huge smile on his face.

“Hey, you're the _Somewhere in the World_ guy!” he says to Blaine. “My daughter loves that show!” Blaine nods and smiles at the man, who is making a scene as he breaks into the song _Big, Beautiful Planet_ that Blaine always sings at the close of each episode. “ _There's a big, beautiful planet in the sky. It's my home. It's where I live. You and many others live here too. The Earth is our home, it's where we live._ ”

Blaine is thanking the guy in a quiet voice, obviously embarrassed by the attention of the room on him. “That's great stuff!” the guy says. “Mind if I get a picture of you for my daughter?”

“No, that's fine.” Blaine answers, voice still quiet, and the guy takes out his cellphone and stands in close, holding it out to get a shot of both himself and Blaine.

“I can take a better one, if you want,” Kurt offers, and Blaine gives him a look that all but screams save _me_. Kurt quickly snaps the photo, and then hands the beaming man his phone. He backs away from them to the door of the coffee shop, still thanking Blaine and praising his work and babbling about his little girl.

“I'm so sorry about that,” Blaine whispers once the man is gone and the rest of the patrons have stopped staring.

“It's okay. I thought it was sweet.”

Blaine attempts to smile, but he still looks uncomfortable, so the next time he insists that Kurt allow him to get the coffee, Kurt gives in and goes to procure them a table for two next to the window.

Kurt gets them napkins and sits, watching the rain bead against the window and people rushing by on the sidewalk outside. He debates with himself—should he bring up Blaine's discomfort? They haven't known each other long enough for candour, perhaps, but Kurt has a difficult time being less than open about uncomfortable situations. And would it be rude to start eating the cheesecake before Blaine returns with their coffee?

He's removing the lid of the container when Blaine sets down a paper cup on the table in front of him. “You weren't even going to wait for me,” he says, “Tsk Tsk.”

“I've been restraining myself for five whole minutes. How much longer could I possibly last?”

“Well at least wait until I've sat down. I don't have the cover of darkness to hide myself in here.”

Kurt smirks across the table and stabs into the cake with his fork.

Blaine's face looks warm. “You noticed,” he says.

Kurt quirks one eyebrow and points the speared chunk of cake at him. “I was flattered.”

Blaine gives him a crooked smile and leans across the table to take the offered bite of cake into his mouth. He chews and swallows, not looking away from Kurt's eyes. “You were making sex noises.”

Kurt stabs the fork back into the cake. “I must protest—You have no evidence of that. You don't know how my sex noises sound.”

“No. I suppose you're right.” Blaine full lips draw down in a bit of a pout, and Kurt slides the piece of cheesecake slowly into his own mouth this time, taking notice of Blaine's gaze as it follows his every movement.

After they've quickly polished off their coffees and the rest of the cake, they crowd together under their cheap umbrella, heading in the direction of Kurt's building without any discussion on the matter.

There is still no discussion once they've exited the elevator, or once they've entered the apartment. Kurt watches Blaine's heavy-lidded eyes as he strips off his jacket, then reaches out to undo Blaine's bowtie.

They leave a trail of clothes as they slowly make their way through the kitchen and down the hall, shucking off their pants just inside Kurt's bedroom door, where Blaine finally leans up and in and presses his mouth against Kurt's.

He tastes like lemon and cinnamon and coffee and rainwater and it's the most sublime combination Kurt has ever had tempt his taste buds. He runs his hands over Blaine's dampened skin and sighs into his mouth, feeling Blaine's hands slide over his waist and hip, feeling his thumb hook in the waistband of Kurt's briefs and slide them crookedly down his thigh.

Kurt leans back slightly with a breathless laugh and gives Blaine a gentle push. He tumbles onto the bed and Kurt grins down at him as he shimmies the rest of the way out of his underwear and then bends to rid Blaine of his.

He flops down next to Blaine on the bed and sucks a kiss on his beautifully exposed throat. “What do you want?” he gasps into the skin there, Blaine groaning under him.

“Will you fuck me?” Blaine gasps back, and Kurt pulls away to get one good look at his blown pupils before nodding and being drawn over Blaine's body and back to his waiting mouth.

Kurt has never been with anyone so sensual and responsive in his life. The noises, the panting, the way Blaine writhes and ruts and throws himself back on Kurt's cock. The flush of his skin, the slickness of his sweat, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth gasping and his white-knuckled hands that fist the sheets. Blaine who curses into Kurt's open mouth and says _harder_ and _oh yes, right there_ , and begs and pleads and whimpers. Kurt has never had a lover who shattered so wholly with an orgasm that completely wracked his body from head to toe. Who begged Kurt to come inside him and never let him go.

**

“I'm not going to be able to sit in The Story Chair at work on Monday,” Blaine says in between the tender kisses he's pressing to Kurt's chest the next morning.

“Oh my God, Blaine, that's not even a real chair!” Blaine laughs, his breath and stubble tickling against Kurt's side as his kisses make a detour in that direction. “It's a _virtual_ chair, and can you not make me think about you reading stories to children after I just fucked you? Because it makes me feel like a total pervert.”

Blaine laughs again and stretches up, his weight resting on his forearms, and finds Kurt's mouth with his. “Last night was amazing.”

Kurt hums his agreement and deepens the kiss, not even caring that both his and Blaine's mouths taste on the sour side, which is huge for him. It usually takes him months of sleeping with someone before he stops jumping out of bed first thing to brush his teeth. Sometimes before the guy is even awake.

“I don't want to stop kissing you,” Blaine says in a mock whine, pulling back. “But I need to pee.”

Kurt snorts a laugh and pushes Blaine away playfully. “Fine, you can go first. Just grab my robe. It's on the coat rack by the desk.”

Blaine slides out of bed, stretching as he goes, and Kurt watches the muscles flex in his back and ass and thanks his fairy godmother for granting him this wish above all others. He thinks that he'll gladly take parts with one line a show for the rest of his days if he gets to wake up to _that_ every morning. Not that he's getting ahead of himself or anything. It was just one date. And amazing sex. Maybe Blaine has one night stands all the time; lots of guys do. Just because Kurt can't bring himself to do it doesn't mean that he would judge Blaine for it, or even be angry. Sure he'll cry buckets of tears and eat even more ice cream, but he's getting ahead of himself again, and in an even worse way. Negativity is bad for the complexion.

He watches Blaine lean down and come back up with something small and red in his hand.... and oh God, it's the damn discarded thong.

“Why was this in the trash?” he asks with a naughty grin. “Seems like such a waste.”

Kurt can feel redness flood his skin. He's probably as red as the stupid underwear. “It doesn't fit me very well,” he says. “So I threw it away.”

“And right before our date, too.” Blaine grins at him again.

“Shut up.”

Blaine holds the thong up, stretching the material out to its full size.“Though I see how this would have a difficult time covering all of that.” He motions to where Kurt is still covered in blankets from the waist down. Kurt's skin flushes anew. Blaine sighs happily to himself and flings the underwear back into the trashcan, then pulls Kurt's robe down off the coat rack. “Do you mind if I start the coffee?”

“Sure. I'll be out in a minute,” Kurt tells him, and he watches as Blaine finishes tying the robe and slips out the door.

Blaine is humming in the kitchen when Kurt finally throws on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and tiptoes across the hall to the bathroom, a gigantic smile plastered on his face. Blaine humming in his kitchen is even better than Blaine singing at Carnegie Hall.

He's just towelling off his hands when he hears the devil's own voice shouting at him from the direction of the kitchen.

“I know, I know. I did it again. What magical country am I missing this time?”

There is a pause and he almost thinks that maybe it's okay and then—

“Luuuuucy, you got some 'splain' to doooo!”

“Oh, fuck. I'm gonna murder her,” he mutters to himself, stumbling over his own feet in his panic to get to Blaine and save him.

He practically sprints down the hall, sliding the last couple of feet and directly into the wall. He bangs his knee and has to hobble around the corner, where he sees Blaine standing with wide, frightened eyes and Santana lurking over him with her crazy face on. Oh shit.

“Santana,” he says, breathless. “You're home. How _wonderful_ to see you,” he says through gritted teeth, trying to be stealthy as he jerks his head in the direction of the hall.

She smirks at Blaine as she passes him, and turns her head to very obviously take an extended look at his ass. Kurt sighs and reaches out to grab her.

“Bedding the wonderstar on the first date?” She starts as soon as she steps into the hallway, likely not out of Blaine's earshot and she's not even bothering to whisper. “That's not your usual style, Dandy. Mama so proud!”

“You told me to—”

“You're such a _groupie_.”

“No I'm not! I really, really like him, okay? So could you _please_ —I know you're no longer in charge of your own soul, but please find some scrap of feeling somewhere in your tiny, shrivelled heart and don't scare him away, you fucking psycho.”

“Jesus, Hummel, you sure do know how to butter a girl up. No wonder he leapt into bed with you.”

“Santana—”

“Fine, I'm going into my room to sleep. I won't bug you.” She turns towards her room and then quickly back, a smirk on her lips. “Guess you're not watching the show this morning, since you've got the real thing to give you a live, naked performance, huh?”

Kurt throws up his hands and stomps back to the kitchen, her loud cackles following after him.


	4. Chapter 4

_Four... Kurt has the plague, Cooper is charming, and Blaine makes a poor nursemaid._

It doesn't take them long to decide to be exclusive. Blaine would have agreed to it after the very first night. Hell, twenty minutes into the first night, but he didn't want to come across as too eager. He was already eager enough to get onto Kurt's cock, and has been as much as is humanly possible every night since. And sometimes day, when he doesn't have work and Kurt isn't stuck with rehearsal or an afternoon matinee performance. It's been six weeks and it gets better every time. Usually by the fourth week in a relationship, Blaine finds himself getting bored and missing something—longing for a connection that just isn't there. He's not finding that this time. Every time he sees Kurt, or hears his voice on the other end of a phone call, or even hastily reads a message in between shooting scenes and eating lunch, he always feels connected. And a riot of very athletic butterflies holding dogfights in his stomach.

**Kurt**  
 _Good morning! Sorry lazy me didn't get out of bed to see you off this morning. I was pretty worn out from last night. ;)_

**Kurt**  
 _Don't work too hard. I've got plans for you tonight. Very late tonight. Your tickets to the show will be waiting at the box office. xoxoxox_

Even though Blaine knows that Kurt is probably underground, making his way to the theatre to warm up for the performance, Blaine answers him anyway, then quickly stows his cell and chugs the rest of his water before Joe can call him back into the booth. He knew he was recording today; he really should have been less vocal the night before. He's paying for it now with a dry, scratchy throat.

**Blaine**  
 _Can't wait. ;) Break a leg tonight! I'll be there. xoxoxoxox_

The show isn't the greatest thing Blaine has ever seen, as he was forewarned by Kurt, but being able to zone in on Kurt dancing in the chorus takes all of his attention anyway. He's so vibrant up there on the stage. Blaine can't understand for the life of him how Kurt hasn't been plucked from this obscurity and given a starring role. Hell, had a damn show written just for him.

Backstage he brings Kurt a bouquet of flowers and kisses him on the cheek. He gets odd looks from some of Kurt's co-stars—whether it's because they recognize him and aren't sure from where, or because it's probably not common practice for someone to bring a chorus member flowers, especially when the show opened weeks before. 

They stop for coffee on the way back to Kurt's place. Kurt says he's feeling worn out after the performance and needs the caffeine kick. It doesn't do him any good.

For the first time since they started dating, Kurt falls asleep before sex and Blaine lies in bed next to him, naked and achingly hard, worrying that maybe Kurt is getting bored with him to the soundtrack of Kurt's snuffling little puppy-like snores. He's never noticed the snoring before, he thinks, then sighs and rolls over, not bothering to take care of his problem before falling asleep.

Kurt is snoring more loudly and doesn't even stir when Blaine is awakened by his phone alarm the next morning. Blaine gives him a quick kiss on the forehead and leaves a note on his pillow before slipping away to grab a quick shower before taking a cab to the studio.

Blaine has a rough morning. He drops things and misses cues and messes up the lip-synching. He apologizes profusely, but the crew seems annoyed with him. He wishes he could call it a day and try again tomorrow. If only.

Cooper shows up for lunch. It's eerie sometimes, how he pops up when Blaine needs him, even though they don't spend inordinate amounts of time together on a regular basis. Blaine wonders if Cooper has some sort of brother sense or something.

“What's up today, Squirt? You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Coop. That's ever so helpful.”

“No, seriously. You look like you did when your turtle died and you had nowhere to bury it. Spill.”

Blaine sighs and looks down at his lunch, stirring the soup around and around with his spoon. “You don't want to know, Cooper.”

“Of course I do! No secrets between brothers. It's about that guy you're seeing, isn't it?”

“I—yeah. Kurt.”

“And...”

Blaine sighs again and gives up on eating. He sets his spoon down on the napkin and sits back in his seat. “It's just— Last night, Kurt fell asleep. I mean, when we were... you know.” He widens his eyes and Cooper nods knowingly.

“Right. That's rough, but easily fixable. What you gotta do is go to one of those sex shops and get something fun... I know of a great one on—”

“Cooper!” Blaine looks around to be sure none of the crew overheard. “This is hardly the place.”

Cooper shrugs his shoulders. “Fine. I'll tell you about it later. And speaking of this Kurt—you've been dating for, what, two months, and I still haven't been introduced? I smell a conspiracy.”

Blaine rolls his eyes. “No conspiracy, Coop. We've been spending our time getting to know each other. And it hasn't been two months, it's been six weeks.”

“Potato, Po _ta_ to. Close enough. Anyway, call him up. I want to meet the man who's got my baby brother so completely enamoured.”

“I will, okay? Maybe we can all go out on the weekend.” Then Blaine thinks better of that. He doesn't want Kurt to see Cooper in action out in public. Not yet. “Or even better, I can make that pasta dish with the seafood and we can stay in at my place.”

“I meant call him now.” Blaine sighs. “Right now, Blainey.” Cooper points at Blaine, a faux stern look on his face, then points at Blaine's phone which he laid on the table before starting lunch, hoping for a message from Kurt. It has been sadly silent all day.

“Fine. I don't have the energy to fight with you. You win.”

“Naturally.” Cooper watches with a smirk as Blaine finds Kurt in his contacts and hits _call_.

It rings several times before being picked up. Blaine knows Kurt leaves for work around this time every day, so he almost hangs up, thinking he's in the shower.

“Kurt's incapacitated, PeeWee Herman, so he can't come to the phone.” Santana sounds put upon and yet bored. It's a strange combination, but he's found it to be her default, so he's not really offended.

“Um... is he all right?”

“I dunno. He hacked up one of his lungs this morning when he insisted that he was fine to go out, so I've got him on strict bed rest. And Auntie Snix is not to be trifled with, you hear?”

“He's sick? Oh God, is he awake? Can I just talk to him for one minute? I promise not to tire him out.”

Santana laughs a little into the phone. “Sure you won't, you little screamer. I somehow don't believe you. But he's wasting what little strength he's got in his noodly arms reaching out for the phone, so I'll put him on.”

Blaine waves away Cooper's questioning look and waits for Kurt to come to the phone. He hears tinny sounding coughing in the background and Santana speaking rapidly, then muffled wind sort of noises.

“Blaine?” Kurt sounds horrible. Stuffy and gruff and miserable.

“Oh, Kurt, I'm so sorry you're sick, babe. God, is there anything I can do?”

Kurt let out a painful moan and sniffles. “I dunno if there's much. I went out an' got stuff this mornin'. I took a swig of the cough syrup outside of CVS and a homeless guy yelled 'cheers' at me. Today sucks.”

Blaine smiles fondly, playing with his discarded spoon. Soup. That's what he can do. “I'll be over later, okay? I'll bring you something. Will Santana look after you until I can get there?”

“Try an' stop her. She's like a damn dictator. She'll only let me have popsicles an' no ice cream 'cause she says the dairy is bad for my stomach.” He chokes on the last word and Blaine's bubble of laughter dies in his throat as he listens to Kurt's horrible, hacking cough.

“Poor baby. I promise I'll be over as soon as I finish up here. Go rest your voice, okay? I'll see you soon.”

Kurt hums his agreement and they say goodbye. When Blaine lays his cell back down on the table and looks up, Cooper is wearing a tremendous smile.

“He was getting sick! That's why he fell asleep while the two of you were getting it on!” Blaine shushes him, shaking his head. “Oh, relax, Blainey. Anyway, I know just what you're thinking—soup from Ogilvie's, just like Mom used to order! I'll go pick it up and meet you at your place and we can take it to Kurt together.”

“Coop, I don't think it's really the best time to—”

“Nonsense!” Cooper gets up from his seat, backing away as Blaine continues to protest. “Any boyfriend of yours is like family to me, Squirt. See you soon!”

**

And so Cooper accompanies Blaine to Kurt's building, armed with gourmet chicken soup and a secret gift that he won't talk about, no matter how much Blaine bugs him. Which is a lot.

“Cooper, why are you buying gifts for Kurt anyway?”

“What? Can't a man bring a little something the first time he meets his brother's boyfriend? I'm just being hospitable.”

“I think it's just another instance of you trying to make sure that everybody loves Cooper. He's going to think it's weird, Coop. Because it is weird. Do I buy presents for your girlfriends? I mean, if I could even keep track of them.”

“Oh, Blainey, relax,” Cooper says, and reaches out to knock on Kurt's apartment door.

Santana looks disgruntled when she opens it. “He's in no shape to clean your pipes, Small Fry. I told you he's on his death bed.”

“Santana, he's my boyfriend. You can't refuse—”

“Look, we brought soup!” Cooper interrupts, pushing Blaine out of the way and grinning at Santana. “Cooper Anderson, pleased to meet you.” He sticks out his hand, which she gives an odd look and doesn't accept. She does, however, move aside to let them in.

Blaine grabs the container of soup from Cooper and rushes inside to Kurt's room. He can hear Cooper trying to chat Santana up and he rolls his eyes.

Kurt looks diminished in amongst the many blankets he's got piled on top of him. His face is turned toward the door, propped up on what looks like three pillows. He's pale—paler than usual—his lips a dark red and his eyelashes blinking fitfully against the dark circles that surround his closed eyes.

Blaine hums sadly as he approaches the bed and Kurt's eyes flutter open. He groans, following Blaine with his eyes. Blaine perches himself on the edge of the bed and pushes Kurt's messy hair from his forehead. “You doing okay?” he asks. Kurt grunts his answer, his head shaking minutely. “I brought soup. You want it now?”

Kurt shakes his head again. “Maybe later.” Blaine cringes at the sound of Kurt's voice. It had been bad earlier in the day, but now he's unrecognizable. It sounds painful.

“Okay,” Blaine whispers, and bends down to peck the top of Kurt's head. “You get some sleep. I'll be here if you need me.”

Kurt blinks heavily and licks his lips in slow motion, then pulls one arm out from under his covers and points over at the table next to his bed. “Water,” he rasps. “Please.”

As Blaine is holding the straw for Kurt to take a drink, Cooper barges in with Santana and Blaine's hand slips. The straw goes up Kurt's nose and he grumbles, meekly batting it away.

“Oh God, I'm so sorry!”

“Stop abusing the patient,” Santana growls.

“I'm not. I mean—Kurt, my brother insisted he come along. I apologize. If I had known how sick you are I would never have—”

“Oh, Blainey, always so dramatic.” Blaine scoffs and shakes his head and Cooper approaches Kurt's bed with his hand outstretched. “Nice to finally meet you, Kurt!”

Kurt shakes Cooper's hand only once and then retracts his, pulling it back under the covers. “You too, Cooper. I love your show.”

Cooper's grin widens. “Really? Well, well, Blaine didn't tell me that! We must chat... when you're feeling better of course.”

Kurt manages a smile and Blaine feels like scuffing the toe of his shoe into the floor like a little kid. His stupid brother got a smile out of Kurt and all he did was stick a straw up his nose.

“'The role of Dr. Charlie Sandusky is now being played by Cooper Anderson.' Where were you on that iconic day, huh Squirt? That was a great day.”

Blaine scowls at his brother. Now is not the time for this, even if Kurt's eyes look brighter than they did before and he's smiling again. “I was sitting on the sofa at Mom and Dad's, my retinas being burned by the wattage of your stupid grin.”

Cooper chucks him under the chin. “My baby brother, such a kidder.” He turns back to Kurt. “You're on the stage, right? Blainey always wanted to do that,” he says and clasps Blaine's shoulder. “But when he was finished wasting his time in college he couldn't get any parts. Almost did once, eh Squirt? What happened there?”

“The financing fell through.”

“Right,” Cooper says, nodding. “You've got to worry about that stuff all the time with these new productions. Stick to TV, I say. I got Blaine that audition and look where he is now! He didn't even have to do any commercials or pay his dues— his own show!”

Kurt nods and Blaine tries not to look as mortified as he feels. Kurt already knows that Cooper was the one who got Blaine the audition for _Somewhere in the World_. He already told him the stories of his searching for theatre roles and his one big chance that fell through because some people backed out before they even got to start rehearsals. He doesn't need it all rehashed like he's a child and Cooper knows what's best for him.

“Cooper, Kurt needs to rest.”

“Of course. Of course he does. And we'll have lots of time to get friendly once you're better, won't we, Kurt?” Kurt nods and smiles again and Cooper leans down and ruffles his freaking hair. “See ya soon! We'll do lunch. I'll get your number from Blainey, okay?”

“Okay, okay, Coop.” Blaine hustles him out of the room and to the front door. “Say goodbye now. I'll call you later in the week.”

“Fine, fine. I know when I'm not needed. But give this to Kurt for me when he's more awake.” He hands over the mystery package and backs out of the apartment with a wink.

Blaine finds Kurt has already fallen asleep when he returns to his room, so he sets Cooper's gift down on the bedside table and sits in the small reading chair, pulling it in as close to the bed as he can manage.

**

Kurt's stomach is grumbling when he wakes a couple of hours later, and Blaine springs to alertness from where he had been drifting in the small chair next to him. Kurt blinks over at him, his eyes hooded and shot through with red.

“You're hungry.”

Kurt makes a sound that's a bit like _meh_ and Blaine stands and lays a hand on Kurt's forehead. He doesn't think he has a fever, but he's not really sure how to tell this way. He's just seen people do it in the movies a whole lot. He feels a bit warm, but that's good, right? People are warm-blooded after all. It's not like he's trying to take the temperature of a lizard or a snake.

He sets about warming a bowl of the soup Cooper picked up for him. It's the very same kind their mother used to send for when he was sick as a kid and the smell of it brings back memories, mostly bad. Not just the horrible recollection of the actual illnesses, but the way his mother would never stay with him. She always had a sour look on her face whenever she checked on him and would send the maid to fetch him things instead of doing it herself. He always wanted her so much and she would never sit with him. Sometimes his father would if he wasn't too busy with work, but he wasn't very helpful. He mostly said things like _man up_ and put on movies or the game. He wasn't warm or affectionate the way Blaine's mother usually was. Blaine always assumed his mother didn't want to catch whatever he had and therefore avoided him. He's never had enough nerve to ask her about it.

The first boneheaded thing he does is spill soup on Kurt's duvet when he's trying to make space on the bedside table one-handed.

“Whoa!” comes Kurt's raspy voice. “Watch out!”

Blaine rights the bowl and quickly sets it down on the table. “Oh god, sorry! I'll clean it up.” He strips off the top two blankets and goes in search of new ones, but Kurt calls him back before he gets out of the room.

“Blaine, m'hot anyway. S'okay.” And Blaine begins to wonder again if maybe Kurt has a fever. He'll have to find a thermometer. But first, soup. Kurt's stomach just let out another angry grumble.

He wipes off the side of the bowl with a napkin and apologizes again for making a mess on Kurt's bed as Kurt struggles to get himself into sitting position. Blaine nearly sloshes the soup all over the place in his rush to set it down and help. “Sorry!” he says again, wrapping his arm around Kurt and helping him get up. It takes a while to get the pillows situated behind him, and even though Kurt's says they're perfect, he still looks a little lopsided and uncomfortable.

Blaine picks up the soup again and fills the spoon, holding it under Kurt's mouth. Kurt seems amused—exhausted, but amused nonetheless. “You're feeding me, are you?” he asks.

Blaine shrugs. Isn't that what he's supposed to do? “You seemed a little weak. I mean, I don't have to if you don't—” Kurt opens his mouth, effectively shutting Blaine up. He spoons some soup into Kurt's mouth. It looks painful for him to swallow. He takes another spoonful, and another, cringing a little each time.

“Is it okay?”

“Just a little hot. But it tastes okay.”

“Oh God, it's burning you, isn't it? Why didn't you— Never mind. I'll let it cool a bit. How about some water?” Blaine feels like an idiot. Who doesn't test soup to be sure it's not too hot before spoon feeding it to someone? It's a good thing he isn't in charge of any children. He grabs Kurt's cup of water, this time making sure the straw goes into his mouth and not his nose.

“M'not scalded or anything. It's okay, honey,” Kurt reassures. He takes another sip of water and sits back against the pillows, already seeming exhausted again from just that. All Blaine can think is that Kurt has never called him by a pet name like that before. He must be grinning dopily, because Kurt is soon asking him what's wrong.

“Oh nothing, it's just—” He quickly searches for an excuse, zeroing in on Kurt's unmitigated disaster of a hairdo. “You look cute with your hair all in disarray.”

“God,” Kurt moans, lethargically slapping away the hand that Blaine is now stroking through his tangled mess of hair. “Don't want you to see me like this. Still tryin' to impress you.”

“Oh, I'm plenty impressed. You can let up on that. And you're adorable, like I said.”

Kurt's face goes a bit ashen and his eyes widen and beads of sweat break out on his forehead and upper lip in a matter of seconds. “Gonna be sick,” he says in a rush, flopping to the side of the bed and grabbing for the wastebasket which has been recently relocated there. Probably for just this reason.

As Kurt heaves up the small bit of food and water he's ingested, Blaine feels bile rise up his own throat and has to choke it back. He's never been good with other people throwing up. In college he was the guy who always joined in when a friend started getting sick after a night of drinking. The sound, the smell.... He swallows thickly and turns away. God, he feels like a terrible boyfriend. Once the sound of Kurt gagging has stopped, he stumbles off the bed, carrying the wastebasket.

“Kurt, I can—”

But Kurt is having none of that. “No way in hell. It's bad enough that you just saw me puke. You're not cleaning up after me.” His feet are heavy as he makes his way across the hall to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

When he's been in there for ten minutes, Blaine is about ready to break down the door. He calls Kurt and a second later the door pops open, a zombie version of Kurt just barely on his feet, leaning heavily on the door frame.

“Kurt, God, why didn't you say anything? You're not getting up again without help, okay?” Blaine half carries him back to his room and tucks him in bed, feeling his forehead again. He's not as warm as before, but definitely clammy, whatever that means. When Blaine feels clammy he likes washing his face with a cool cloth. “Be right back,” he says, probably more brightly than the situation warrants, then sprints across the hall to the bathroom in search of a washcloth.

His wets it with water, just on the cool side of tepid, filling a small dish with extra water so he can refresh it without leaving Kurt's side.

When he presses it to Kurt's forehead, he moans in pleasure and Blaine feels like giving himself a _job well done_ punch in the arm. He mops Kurt's forehead and then the rest of his face and neck, going down the top of his chest and back up again. He's considering stripping Kurt down and giving him an actual sponge bath, when Kurt cries out.

“Ouch! That's my eye!”

“Shit! Sorry!” Oh God, he's so bad at this. “I'm so bad at this. I'm the worst boyfriend in the world!”

“Oh you are not,” Kurt says, shaking his head just once before grimacing. “Just shush and c'mere.” He pats the bed next to him. “Unless you're worried about catching my plague.”

Blaine shakes his head and crawls as slowly and gently as he can onto the bed beside Kurt. “Pretty sure I'm going to anyway, seeing as I've had my tongue in your mouth a lot lately. Incubation periods and all that.” Kurt snorts a laugh that turns into a hacking cough. Blaine pats him on the back, cringing. “Sorry! I'm just making you worse!”

“S'fine,” Kurt reassures once he can breathe again and Blaine withdraws his hand. “Lie down, okay? But don't try an' cuddle me, 'cause I'm already sweaty enough.”

“Of course, Kurt. Anything. Do you need something first? Some more soup? It's probably cool enough now.”

Kurt pulls a face. “No. I'll just barf again.”

“Right.” Blaine slides down onto the pillows. He definitely doesn't want to witness that again. He might not be able to stop himself from joining in the next time. “Probably best to avoid that.”

**

Later on that night, his phone lights up with a text from Cooper.

**Coop**  
 _How's the patient?_

**Blaine**  
 _He'd be doing better if I wasn't completely useless. I spilled soup, poked him in the eye, and almost got sick when he did. I'm a mess. Good thing I never decided to be a doctor or a nurse._

**Coop**  
 _You almost started a puke-o-rama? Haha! Classic._

**Blaine**  
 _Not funny. I barely contained it. Who knows what the rest of the night might bring? I can't believe how weak my stomach is._

**Coop**  
 _So just like Mom then, huh?_

**Blaine**  
 _What do you mean?_

**Coop**  
 _I remember this one time when I was six or seven, I sneezed all over her and she went all exorcist. Sprayed my whole room. She can't handle anything like that. Don't you remember?_

**Blaine**  
 _No. But suddenly my childhood is making some kind of terrible sense._

**Coop**  
 _Glad I could be of assistance. I charge by the hour. Dr. Sandusky, at your service._

**Blaine**  
 _Your character is a surgeon, not a psychologist._

**Coop**  
 _You DO watch my show!_

**Blaine**  
 _Goodnight, Cooper._

Remembering the gift that Cooper left for Kurt, Blaine reaches across Kurt's snoring form and slides it off the nightstand. He unties the ribbon and lifts off the lid of the box, tilting it slightly so he can make out its contents in the light of the streetlamps shining in the window.

It's a pair of shiny silver handcuffs nestled in amongst blood red tissue paper, the keys dangling from a another strand of ribbon.

“Idiot,” Blaine mumbles to himself, then sets the lid back on the box and slides it under Kurt's bed. He'll have to be sure to remember to dispose of it later.


	5. Chapter 5

_Five... Blaine sees the bad side and Kurt sits in The Story Chair._

People often assume that he's a social butterfly, flitting between people with the grace of a first class mingler, but the truth is, Kurt mostly hates parties. He loves the preparation, the choosing of the outfit and the calming ritual of shaving and moisturizing and doing his hair. But once he's there and has absorbed a wealth of information for the after-party fashion critique—preferably over some sort of fattening cake— he mostly just wants to go home.

But at least tonight he has a date he can talk to when he's bored or uncomfortable. Unfortunately, Blaine is getting them both fresh drinks when a most uncomfortable situation rears its ugly head wearing a hideous monstrosity of powder blue and fuchsia. He's all for expressing oneself with bold colour choices, but it looks like both the 70s and 80s threw up at the same time and that just gives him a headache.

“Well, well, if it isn't little Kurt Hummel,” the blinding colour-blob says in a snide tone of voice. “I wasn't sure you were even still in the city. Thought you'd run back to Idaho with your tail between your legs to go take over Daddy's towing company.”

Kurt sighs internally, looking around for Blaine. The last thing he wants is to trade barbs with an old rival and classmate. Especially when he was ready to leave an hour ago. He's too tired for this. “It's Ohio and a garage, but no. I'm still here. Still in love with the city.” He speaks through gritted teeth and gives the bastard a false smile. He doesn't feel like stooping to his level. He'd hoped to have grown too tall for that since his days at NYADA.

“So I heard Rachel Berry was in London doing a short West End run. How is that girl?”

“Oh, she's doing well. She gets back next week.”

“Remember how you beat her at Midnight Madness? Imagine, we used to think Midnight Madness results could predict the future career paths of students. Guess you proved that one wrong, huh?” He titters into his hand and Kurt forces another smile. “But at least you're in love with the city. You were always such a cold fish I can't imagine you'll ever really love anything else.”

And that's when Kurt decides he's really not too tall to stoop. Not too tall at all.

“Oh, I wouldn't say that. I'm very happily in a relationship at the moment. With Blaine Anderson. I'm sure you've heard of him—very handsome and very famous. He has his own TV show. How are things going with that doctor you were—” Kurt chews his bottom lip, pretending to remember something while his opponent's smug face falls apart in front of him. “Oh, right, I heard he found out about your fucking everything that moves in order to get a spot in the chorus of that show that flopped and he left your ass. Sorry to hear that.”

“Um.... Kurt?” Blaine is standing there wide-eyed and with two glasses of wine in his hands.

“Oh, there you are, honey!” Kurt relieves him of one of the glasses and takes him by the arm. “Blaine, this is an old classmate of mine from NYADA, Todd Aldridge. Todd, this is my boyfriend, Blaine.”

Blaine nods, as Kurt is holding him too tightly to allow a handshake, and Todd gives a wavering hello and then quickly excuses himself.

Kurt watches him walk away with a feeling of satisfaction that makes him feel dirty inside. He shouldn't like it, one-upping a horrible person like Todd, but he still feels vindicated as he always has. He shakes his head and turns his focus back on Blaine, who is watching him with an inscrutable expression on his face.

“What was that?” Blaine asks. “That was really... _mean_.”

Kurt sighs and takes a drink of his wine, looking down at his shiny shoes. It was. He knows it was. And yet, Blaine's reprimanding him makes him feel sort of angry.

“How much did you overhear? Because he was just as nasty to me. I was simply giving back what I was getting. He's a terrible person and there's only so much I can take. There is a long, twisted history there.”

“Right. Then you should have stuck to the past and not used me like some sort of new, shiny weapon in your arsenal.”

“What?” Kurt feels tears spring to the front of his eyes. “I didn't mean—” He sets his wine down on a nearby table and lays his freed hand on Blaine's cheek. “That's not what I meant to do. I'm sorry, Blaine. Let's get out of here, okay?”

“Why, so we don't make a scene in front of any other old classmates?”

“No. I—I upset you and we should talk. I can explain.” Blaine nods and looks into Kurt's eyes at last. He looks so _hurt_ and Kurt feels like the biggest ass.

They gather their coats and silently ride the elevator down to the lobby of the building. When they exit through the front door, Kurt reaches out and takes Blaine's hand. Blaine doesn't grip Kurt's hand like he usually does, but he doesn't pull away either, so Kurt thinks that's something and keeps his hold.

“Sometimes I'm not a very nice person,” Kurt says quietly as they make their way down the street, the sidewalks nearly vacant and the air dry and cool. He sucks in a breath and blinks slowly, tightening his hand around Blaine's. “I know you think that I am, but I can be mean—I try not to be, but sometimes when someone gets to me... he was always able to get under my skin. I know I should just walk away, be the bigger man, as my dad always says, but I just—”

“If you feel the need to have petty arguments with people you don't even like, that's your business, Kurt. Just talking about me like you did... it made me feel like I'm just an accessory to you. Like you're only dating me because of who I am—”

Kurt stops and turns and takes Blaine's other hand in his so that he's got a hold of them both. He tugs Blaine gently to the edge of the sidewalk near the door of a bakery that's closed up for the night. “I am not—Oh, Blaine, no.” He shakes his head and tries to make eye contact, but Blaine is looking down, watching his foot as he toes at a dried red leaf that has fluttered down and lay there. Kurt ducks down so he can see Blaine's face. “I'm so sorry, Blaine. I swear to you I'm not with you because you're famous. I like you because you're _you_. At first when I saw you, I was physically attracted to you of course, but then, God, you seemed so _sweet_. And I found out that you are. You really, really are. It's not just part of your act; you're the sweetest, kindest, most adorably romantic guy I've ever met and I just fell—”

Kurt stops himself and swallows, realizing what he almost said. It's too soon for that. He shakes his head and pulls one of Blaine's hands up to press a kiss to his knuckles. Blaine is watching him now and Kurt wonders if he noticed the slip up; if he knows what Kurt was going to say. Kurt clears his throat and continues, trying to cover it up.

“It's not because you're on TV,” he reiterates, squeezing Blaine's hands. “It's because of you. If I'd met you in a coffee shop or at yoga class or at the dry cleaners—it wouldn't have mattered, I would have pounced on you so hard. Well, not actually pounced, because you would have had me arrested, but I'd have pounced on you in my mind. I would have mind-pounced the hell outta you even still. Okay?” Kurt knows he just went on a mindless ramble, but Blaine seems to be responding. He's squeezing Kurt's hands back and his mouth is curling upwards just a little.

“I'm sorry for making you feel like that. I can be so thoughtless sometimes, and that guy.... he just drives me nuts! And, well, I'm really proud to be with you, Blaine. And not famous TV star Blaine Anderson, but just sweet Blaine who tries to nurse me back to health even though he can't stand the sight of another person puking.”

Blaine lets out a chuckle and leans his forehead against Kurt's shoulder with a groan. “I'm glad,” he whispers after a moment. “I want you to be.” He stays there with his head against Kurt's shoulder and Kurt curls his arms up under his armpits and around his back and holds him. The wind has picked up and Blaine's body heat is the only thing that's keeping him from shivering his way out of his skin.

“Can I take you somewhere?” Blaine asks, lifting his head to look Kurt in the eye. “It's close by.” Kurt nods and slides a hand down to clasp one of Blaine's again. “And on the way you can tell me what the deal was with that Todd guy and why he gets to you so badly. Did you used to date him or—”

Kurt pulls a face. “God no! That's just—” The way he shudders has nothing to do with the night's chill. Blaine shakes his head with a bit of a laugh as he begins to lead Kurt across the street.

They end up in front of a huge warehouse sort of building and Blaine takes him around the side and nods at a guy sitting in a booth. The guy presses a button to bring up the gate and they slip past. Blaine takes a card out of his wallet and slide it into a slot by a door and a light blinks green and Kurt can hear several clicks as the door unlocks.

“I've been wanting to bring you here for a while, but we're both always so busy and when we do get time alone... we've been a bit preoccupied.”

“With screwing each other's brains out, you mean?” Kurt asks with a smirk and Blaine flashes a grin. “This is your studio, isn't it?”

Blaine nods and leads Kurt on, walking through the dark spaces with practiced ease.

He takes Kurt to the costume closet first and Kurt begins to enthusiastically sort through the rack of bowties. “Oh my god, this one is so cute! You wore it when you climbed the Swiss Alps, and this one, this one is from when you were in Japan, and this is my favourite right here,” he says, holding out the strip of golden fabric covered in tiny stars. “From the outer space episode.” When Blaine just stands there looking amused, Kurt slaps him playfully on the arm. “What? So I paid very close attention. I maybe had a bit of a crush on your adorable self. Sue me.”

Blaine laughs and slides his hands gently up Kurt's arms until he's cupping his shoulders. “I'd much rather kiss you,” he says, and he leans in and does just that, taking Kurt's tongue into his mouth and sucking ever so slightly, just enough to make Kurt moan, toes curling in his shoes.

Kurt nearly whimpers when he pulls back and Blaine smiles smugly before beckoning him on.

He is led onto a soundstage and everything is green: the walls, the floor, props and seats and everything else that is lying around. In the centre of it all is a strange looking seat. It's green as well, a flat bottom with a high back and long, metal legs bolted to a wide base. Kurt wanders over to it, studying the arm that juts out from one side with a narrow tray on its end. That too is green.

“That's where the books sit,” Blaine says. “They make it look as though they're resting on the arm of the chair.”

“So this is the actual Story Chair?” Kurt turns and lowers himself into the seat, Blaine watching with a smile. “I'm so underwhelmed.”

Blaine giggles and lifts one leg over Kurt, then sits down, straddling his lap. “It's not the most comfortable of contraptions. But it does force me to stay focused and do my best so we can get it down in as few takes as possible and I can get the hell out of it.”

Kurt hums and slips his arms around Blaine's tiny waist, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of Blaine's pants. He slides them slowly up Blaine's back and then dips down below his briefs. “So when you said you weren't going to be able to sit in The Story Chair after we were together the first time, you were being serious?”

“Yep.” Blaine leans in and presses his lips to Kurt's neck in a soft kiss.

“And did you have trouble sitting here?” Kurt asks, stretching his neck up and to the side to give Blaine more room to work.

Blaine hums and Kurt feels the slick tip of his tongue tickle against his skin. “Mmhmm, a little bit. But it just reminded me of having you inside me over and over and that is a discomfort I can definitely handle.” And he slides forward, pressing himself against Kurt's cock for one glorious second before sliding back.

“Is this a thing for you?” Kurt asks, unhooking his thumbs from Blaine's pants and bringing his hands down and around to cup his ass. “Have you been wanting to get off in The Story Chair?”

“Maybe. Pretty sure not as much as you have, though.”

“Hey, now!” Kurt laughs, leaning in to capture Blaine's grinning mouth. He hums against Blaine's lips, pressing in with his tongue. Blaine slides his mouth open and his tongue runs along Kurt's as he lets out a breathy moan, crisscrossing his arms behind Kurt's neck and rocking against his lap. Kurt pulls away from Blaine's lips and lifts his mouth to his ear instead, breathing against it, he whispers, “Tell me a story.”

“A story?” Blaine asks, rocking down with his hips again, his ass flexing in Kurt's hands. Kurt can feel the hardness of Blaine's cock pressed up against his belly, and the very bottom against the top of his own erection when Blaine shifts back down. He nods his head and pitches his hips upwards as Blaine comes down again, trying to get more play between their cocks.

Blaine lets his open mouth run down the side of Kurt's face and over his jaw, then up to his ear, where he attaches his lips to the lobe and sucks it in time with the rocking of his body. Kurt lets out a shaky breath and rocks with him, squeezing and spreading the cheeks of Blaine's ass. He presses back into Kurt's hands with a low moan.

“There was this guy who always dreamed of playing a sold out concert on a famous stage, and one night, he gets the chance to do just that,” Blaine says into Kurt's ear, his voice low and broken by little breathy gasps. He ruts harder against Kurt and flicks his tongue over the shell of his ear. “And on that night, when he's high on adrenaline and so happy, he meets someone. Someone so beautiful, it's almost unreal.”

Kurt says Blaine's name and is cut off by Blaine's mouth covering his, pressing and sucking and gasping against his lips. “And it's like a fairytale, even with the silly things and the spilled soup and soggy picnics.”

“Yes,” Kurt gasps, and slips his tongue in between Blaine's perfect lips. “Yes, Blaine.” Blaine's rocking is slowing down and Kurt lets out a whine.

“Take me home with you,” Blaine says. “Take me to your bed.”

“Here, Blaine. Here.” Kurt presses against Blaine's ass insistently and Blaine lets out a shaky chuckle.

“Do you really want to walk home with come in your pants?” Blaine asks, and he has got a point there. Kurt groans and lets his head fall over the top of the chair's back. Blaine takes the opportunity to latch onto his exposed throat with his mouth. 

“No fair. If we're going, we gotta go. I fucking need you.”

“Need to fuck me, you mean.”

“ _Blaine_.”

Kurt is still peeling off the remainder of Blaine's clothes when Blaine slams his mouth down over Kurt's cock and starts sucking in earnest. He didn't even wait until he was naked before he dove onto the bed, where he now lies on his front with his feet up near Kurt's pillows. Kurt grabs at Blaine's pants and underwear and tugs them off the rest of the way, gasping and trying not to thrust up into Blaine's busy mouth. Blaine's ass is flexing where it rests near Kurt's shoulder; he's rutting his stiff cock against the bed as he blows Kurt. So Kurt slides a hand under his body and takes hold of it, stroking it slowly and Blaine's moan vibrates all the way up his shaft and down into his balls.

Kurt curses and lets go of Blaine's erection. He wants more than that, and he wants them to get off together. “Wait, hold on,” he gasps out, then takes Blaine around the waist and shifts his body so that he's on top of him, his round, luscious ass right in his face. Kurt curses to himself and slides his hands over both cheeks, massaging the firm muscle and spreading them apart.

“Fuck, yes, please,” Blaine all but whines from down by Kurt's cock. Kurt can feel his tongue flicking slow and yet firm around the head. He leans forward with his own tongue out and copies Blaine's motion, sliding his tongue in and around the rim of Blaine's hole. “ _Fuuuuck_.” Blaine lets out one last groan and sinks his mouth back over Kurt's cock.

Kurt goes slowly at first, back and forth and around, swirling his tongue and dipping it in as much as he can. And then Blaine begins bucking back against his tongue and he slides the tip of his finger over Blaine's hole and pulls it open so he can slip the point of his tongue inside. Blaine moans and bucks back again, his mouth still full of Kurt's throbbing cock. Kurt's not sure how much longer he can last before he comes his brains out in Blaine's mouth. He slips his free hand around and under Blaine's body and takes him in hand, quickly jerking his cock in time with the thrusts of his tongue into Blaine's hole. He wishes he had time to stretch Blaine out and do it properly, really fuck him with his tongue, make him beg and fall apart like Kurt feels about to do.

He grunts against Blaine's ass, flicking his tongue more quickly and picking up the pace with his hand on Blaine's erection at the same time. He wants to warn Blaine that he's about to lose it, but he doesn't want to stop eating him out either, so he lifts his hips and groans, and Blaine groans back, sucking Kurt in so far that he can feel the head of his cock bring up against Blaine's throat. He gasps and his tongue slips out of Blaine's body and he lazily swipes it over and over, bringing up on the rim as he gasps, hand still pulling on Blaine's cock as Blaine swallows around his.

When Kurt can no longer hold back, he keens, his hips rising minutely off the bed as he shudders, Blaine swallowing around him, Kurt's mouth slack and drooling all over Blaine's ass.

Blaine follows him over a second later, pressing his ass back into Kurt's face when he gasps and shoots hot come all over the bed and Kurt's still pumping fist.

**

In the morning, Santana greets Kurt with a salacious grin and two mugs of sugar-loaded coffee. “Was last night as good as it sounded, because _damn_ , Hummel.”

“Better. And I did buy you earplugs for a reason.”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “You should make him breakfast while he's in the shower. That combined with the rockin' orgasm spree last night should make him hop to and purchase you something big and shiny in a light blue box.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, ducking into the fridge and pulling out eggs and milk. “I don't need some fancy jewelry from Tiffany's. He's more than enough.”

“I meant an engagement ring, dilhole. Poor thing, you're still come dumb. It'll pass in a few hours. You guys _did_ have multiple sessions last night.”

“It's a bit soon for that,” Kurt says with a roll of his eyes, cracking eggs into a mixing bowl. “But still... Just between us, I would totally say yes.”

Santana snorts. “No shit, Marilyn Monroe. If that old smoothy flashed a diamond at you, you'd be off picking out china patterns in a flash.”

Kurt hears the shower turn off and shushes her. She just rolls her eyes at him and passes over the cinnamon and vanilla extract. “So, when's your callback for _Cabaret_ anyway? I can't believe you didn't tell me, by the way. I had to hear it from Berry shrieking on my messages.”

Kurt pauses his whisking and turns to her. “I'm sorry. I've been so busy with Blaine and everything—I should have told you the news. I feel like I've hardly seen you lately. But yeah, the callback is next week. I'm so nervous.”

“You'll do fine, Prancey. That part was made for you. Anyway,” she adds, glancing towards the hallway where Blaine is now emerging, his hair slicked back and his clothes from the night before back on. He should really just start leaving outfits in Kurt's closet. It would save him a lot of trouble. “I'll leave you two to your breakfast.” She gives Blaine a smile as she passes and he looks shocked. Kurt has to stifle a giggle in his shoulder as he recommences his whisking.

“French toast okay?” he asks and Blaine nods, and then a moment later curses loudly. Kurt turns, startled, to see Blaine looking at the clock.

“Dammit, I forgot I have to be in early this morning. I'm so sorry, Kurt! I feel like such an ass, but I'm afraid I have to run.” He rushes back down the hall into Kurt's room to retrieve the rest of his things.

Kurt feels bad. He can't send him on his way without anything to eat. He quickly prepares a bagel and pours Blaine a coffee in a travel mug, adding the sugar and cinnamon just how he likes it.

Blaine comes out with his jacket and shoes on and a forlorn expression. “Aww, it's okay, honey. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?” Kurt reassures him.

“Not tonight?”

“No, I've got dinner with Rachel tonight after the show.”

Blaine pouts as Kurt walks him to the door. “I made you something for the road,” Kurt tells him, handing over the coffee and the bagel in a little brown bag. Kurt opens the door, nodding at the travel mug. “It's just the way you like.”

Blaine takes a sip, smiling, then leans in for a kiss. He hums happily as he pulls back. “Kurt, I lo—um, I would _like_ to thank you. For... breakfast and this—” He holds up the coffee, a forced smile on his face. His cheeks are warm with blood and he looks nervous. Kurt pretends not to notice, leaning down to press another kiss to his lips and promising to text him throughout the day. Blaine turns and waves and then he's gone.

Kurt sighs and leans against the closed door. He's pretty sure that's not what Blaine was intending to say. But that's okay. He can wait.


	6. Chapter 6

_Six... Blaine visits his family, Kurt is drunk, and Santana needs reinforcements._

Blaine thinks that maybe the banner is a bit too much. He chews his lip as he regards it, then bends down to check for the tenth time that the champagne is chilling in the bucket of ice next to the picnic he set up on a checkered blanket spread across his living room floor.

He looks up again, CONGRATULATIONS, KURT! hanging over the windows, the little foil stars catching the sun's rays here and there and sending a twinkle of colour onto the wall opposite. It's too much; he knows it is. And not because he isn't confident in Kurt's abilities— he heard Kurt practising his audition song and it was amazing— it was his second callback and he had a really good chance of landing the role of The Emcee that he was up for. That's not the problem, the reason he's going overboard. The problem is that Blaine knows deep down that he's carrying a small pocket of jealousy, engulfed in an ocean of shame. He tries to push it away— and he certainly doesn't hold any ill will towards Kurt— but it strikes him sometimes during conversations about shows and auditions and work that Kurt has done in the past, that he shouldn't have given up on his true dream when things were looking grim. He should have tried harder. He feels like he took the easy way out when he went to the audition for _Somewhere in the World_ that Cooper set up for him, took the easy way out when he accepted the job. The stage was his dream and he gave it all up to keep from becoming a starving artist. And now? Now he will always be known as that guy on that kid's show. He will never get a part on Broadway like Kurt will. He'd get laughed out of the audition.

And so, he will celebrate extra hard when Kurt's dream comes true, because he needs to. He wants to. Kurt is so, so important to him and he wishes him every good thing and never wants him made aware of the miniscule fragment of petty jealousy that Blaine's got in his gut. He can only hope that seeing Kurt incandescent with happiness will cause it to dissipate and never return.

The ice in the champagne bucket has melted by the time Blaine decides to call. Kurt still hasn't shown up to meet him and he's beginning to worry.

“Kurt's phone,” Santana answers. “I was just about to get you on the horn. I was hoping you'd have a treasure trove of wisdom to dole out, Geleanor Roosevelt.”

Blaine ignores her nickname and wipes a hand across his forehead. Oh no. “He didn't get it?”

He hears Santana sigh heavily. “I'm assuming not since he's drunk crying all over the apartment, but he won't tell me what's going on. Hang on, I'll try and get him to talk to you.”

“I said take my wallet, s'here,” Kurt is slurring in the background. “The cupcakes with the cheesecake inside, that's what I want.”

“Look, I'll make you a deal. You talk to the person on this phone, and I'll go get you your cake,” Santana says.

“Who is it?”

“The state appointed therapist.”

“Well I am having a mental breakdown.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Santana's voice isn't as clear and everything becomes muffled for a second. When Blaine can make out their voices again, he hears Kurt and he sounds much closer than he was before.

“You're a good fiend, Satan,” Kurt says. “I'm glad you're here and not Rachel. She would be all judgey. But I would've been if it was her, so... It's just the relationship we have. Mutual judgement with the occasional Broadway classic duet. But not you—you get me cupcakes and call the therapist. You're not a harsh, thoughtless bitch like you pretend. You loooove me.”

“Whatever, Foppy McDandy. I just don't want to have to clean your tears and vomit out of the rug. Or be on puke-drowning watch.”

“Yeah, yeah. Cupcakes!” Kurt says. He doesn't seem to be crying anymore.

“I'm going to smack you so hard when you're sober...” Santana's voice trails off, muttering curse words in Spanish.

“Kurt?” 

“Blaine? You're the therapist? Oh God, don't want you to see me like this.”

“Kurt, what's wrong? What happened, babe?”

“I should never have called her afterwards. Rachel. I should've known better. She made it so much worse.”

“Made what worse? Is this about _Cabaret_?”

Kurt lets out a sob and Blaine cringes. Wrong thing to say.

“I didn't get it. Not even the stupid understudy. And Rachel kept going on about how I'm getting older and it's harder to get into the business the older you get and what a _bitch_. Way to kick me when I'm down, Rachel. She's supposed to be my best friend, but I think she likes to see me fail. Like she's glad she's the only one who got to make it. What sort of a person does that? I might be jealous as hell, but I'm happy for her. Why does she have to make it worse?”

“Oh, Kurt. I'm so sorry. I'm sure she didn't mean to—”

“Pretty sure she did. Anyway, I started drinking at lunch with her and I didn't stop. So, yeah. Now you get to see me being a pathetic failure.”

“Kurt, you aren't pathetic or a failure. You keep trying even when things don't always work out; you keep striving for what you want and that is commendable. It takes a lot of courage, and take it from me, it's really hard. It's okay to have a bad day. Just pick yourself up and dust off your sure to be fabulous pants, and try again tomorrow.”

“But I really wanted this one, Blaine. And it was the closest I've ever gotten!”

“And so the next time you will get it, Kurt. It's going to happen. You're too amazing for it not to.”

“ _Blaine_. I just—thanks. I feel a bit better already. I'll feel even better when Santana gets back here with my wallowing cupcakes, but still.”

“How about I come over there and share your wallowing cupcakes and we talk some more or watch a movie. I'll bring coffee. Very big cups of coffee.”

Kurt giggles into the phone. “I suppose that means I have to get up off the floor then.”

“You're on the—”

“Oh God, pretend you didn't hear that, okay? Yes, that's best for everyone. I'll sober up, you bring coffee, Santana brings treats. Yes.”

“Okay, I'll see you in about an hour, Kurt. I—Um, feel better, okay? It'll happen for you. Just hold onto that optimism and patience and drive.”

“Hold onto their tattered remains, you mean.” Kurt sighs into the phone. “Okay. See you soon.”

Before Blaine leaves his apartment, he takes down the CONGRATULATIONS, KURT! banner, rolls it neatly and stores it in the back of his closet. He's sure that he will get the chance to use it soon.

**

Blaine is awoken in Kurt's bed the next morning by the sound of his phone ringing. He's confused at first, because he hears the chorus of _Carry On My Wayward Son_ , until he makes his way to the surface of consciousness and remembers that Cooper had set that as one of his ringtones as a joke. He gropes the nightstand for his cell and squints at the screen. Sure enough, _DAD_ is written there in block letters. He closes his eyes as he swipes his finger across to unlock it, and cuts off the song mid- _there will be peace when you are done_. He hopes the song is right in that premonition.

“Dad?”

“Blaine, were you still in bed? It's nine o'clock in the morning! Your mother is insisting on brunch and told me to call you.”

“I, um, it's Saturday.” He feels the need to clarify, to defend himself. He wants to kick himself after he's done it. He's an adult; if he wants to sleep until dinnertime, that's his prerogative. “And we always have brunch together on the last Sunday of the month.”

“Well, your mother insists. And you didn't show up last month, so I would say you're due to come and see us, Blaine.”

“Right, sure. I'll, um, I'll just get ready and be over in a couple of hours.”

“It doesn't take that long, surely. Mom wants you and your brother here by 10:30. You're a five minute cab ride away, Blaine. I don't think that's too much to ask.”

Blaine sighs quietly to himself and stares up at Kurt's ceiling, deciding how much of the truth he should tell his father. “Well, I'm not at home, Dad, I'm in Brooklyn. So it will take a bit longer than five minutes.”

His father is silent for a long moment. “Oh. Well, get here as soon as you can then. I'll let your mother know that you're not at home.” His father hangs up swiftly after that. He can read between the lines of course, and he knows that Blaine is with someone. Blaine sighs again and tosses his phone on the bed next to him, then rolls to the side to curl around Kurt's back. He kisses Kurt on the cheek carefully, gently so as not to wake him. He's tempted to wake Kurt and bring him along, but he had a bad day yesterday and he doesn't need the stress of meeting Blaine's parents on top of what is sure to be a killer hangover.

Blaine writes Kurt a note instead and leaves it on his pillow before kissing his forehead and sneaking out to go get in the shower.

**

Cooper answers the door when Blaine knocks. “You're late, little brother. And wearing party clothes... Methinks you did not come from your place.”

“You would be right. Didn't Dad tell you?”

“Not a word. So how's Kurt?”

“He's okay. A bit upset that he didn't get the Emcee in the _Cabaret_ revival, but last night we stayed up late talking about it and he said it might be better in the long run, because the director seemed like a creep and kept hitting on him. If he had gotten the part he would worry it was due to that director.”

“And why did he not use that to his advantage? Geez, Squirt, that's like the easiest way to get your foot in the door.”

“Cooper!” Blaine shakes his head and storms past his brother. He can't believe Cooper would even suggest such a thing. Kurt is Blaine's _boyfriend_.

“What?” Cooper is walking quickly to keep up with him as he hurries into their parents' brownstone, and Blaine is extra annoyed because his strides are so much longer than Blaine's and it's really not at all difficult for him. “I didn't mean he should sleep with the guy, but a little harmless flirting never hurt anybody.”

“Yeah, well I think you're wrong. Pretty sure it could hurt _me_ for a start.”

Cooper stops Blaine with a hand on his arm. “Well I guess you're lucky that Kurt is just as noble and has the same strong moral character as you, Blainey. But I think you're both nuts.”

“Who's Kurt?” They both turn to face their mother, who is standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

Blaine blinks down at her a few times before deciding to answer. Better him than Cooper, after all. “Kurt is my boyfriend.”

She opens her mouth and closes it several times before responding. “Oh. Well, I didn't know you were seeing someone, Blaine. Is that what you were doing in Brooklyn? You should have brought him along.”

“That's exactly what he was _doing_ in Brooklyn,” Cooper whispers under his breath with a laugh that he turns into a cough when Blaine elbows him in the side.

“He isn't really up to the whole meeting the parents this morning, Mom. Maybe another time when we have a bit more notice.”

She nods and smiles. “Of course, dear. You know both your father and I would be very happy to meet him. You never bring anyone home.”

Blaine forces himself to smile and doesn't say a word about his reasons for that. His reasons come out of the dining room a second later and hurry them all along. “I'm just about starving,” they complain, and then he's stuck sitting next to them for the rest of the meal.

“So,” his father begins as he's taking his first bite of an excellent quiche that his mother had catered. “What's so interesting in Brooklyn this morning?”

He takes his time chewing and swallowing and wipes his mouth with his napkin and replaces it in his lap before answering. “My boyfriend, Kurt, as I was telling Mom earlier.”

“And how long have you been dating this mysterious, Brooklyn Kurt?”

He barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Just over two months now.”

His father's eyebrows go up and he sets his juice glass down on the table. “Two months. Now is that long for you? Is two months serious?”

“Tom,” his mother says in a chastising sort of tone and his father turns to her.

“What? It's not like he tells us these things, Mari. I only want to know.”

He turns his attention back on Blaine and watches him with interest. “Well, I suppose it depends on the person, on the relationship. With this particular person and relationship, I would say that yes, two months is indeed serious,” Blaine tells him.

“Is that so?” His father nods his head and takes a bite of his quiche. “Very good, very good,” he says after he has swallowed it. “And so we can expect to meet the gentleman soon then.”

Cooper snorts a laugh from across the table and Blaine wishes for a smaller table or legs long enough to kick him. He has never brought anyone home to meet his parents. Never. He'd always assumed that his father would find meeting a man he was likely sleeping with to be distasteful. And he loves his parents, he really does, but they can be a little cold and come across sort of... snobbish, he supposes. They've always been supportive about his choice of career and have given him everything he could ever need, but he's always felt a bit like he was looking in a window at them. He loves them, but they aren't particularly close and he's always felt like he would need to explain that to people.

“I, um, I'll mention that to Kurt,” he says, then shoves a large piece of quiche into his mouth.

“Even better, bring him over for dinner this Friday, Blaine,” his mother says, clapping her hands together excitedly. “You know we're having our early Thanksgiving celebration since Dad and I are leaving for Greece the weekend before. We would love to meet him!”

Blaine would make an excuse, he really would, if it weren't for the fact that his mouth is full and everyone looks so damn pleased with the situation. His only hope is that Kurt will already have plans for Friday.

He doesn't.

“Sure, I'd love to meet your family, Blaine! And to see Cooper again. He's been calling me trying to set up a dinner date for the past two weeks and our schedules just can't seem to match up.”

“You do—Wait, how did he even get your number?”

“I assumed from you?”

Blaine shakes his head. “He was snooping in my phone again. I swear, he has no sense of boundaries.”

Kurt waves his hand through the air and then sticks it back into the sink full of soapy water where he's washing the pots and pans from the dinner they just consumed. “Oh, he has it now. It's only me, no harm done. And back to dinner—do I need to bring anything? What should I wear?”

“You don't have to. I'll bring a bottle of wine from us, and it's usually somewhat formal. Maybe a tie and a vest? You don't have to pull out a full suit or anything.”

Kurt smiles at him, his nose crinkled adorably. “I always wear a tie when we go for dinner, and that sounds perfect.”

Blaine bites his bottom lip and grabs the dishtowel just as Kurt hands over a skillet to be wiped down. “It's just... my parents... You know when you said your parents were down to earth and unassuming and easy to get along with? Well, mine kind of _aren't_ any of those things. I mean, they're not horrible tyrants or anything, I just—”

“Blaine, do you not want me to meet your parents?” Kurt looks like his feelings are hurt and he's trying to cover it up, wiping away a nonexistent misplaced hair off of his forehead with the back of one gloved hand. And hurting Kurt's feelings is the last thing Blaine ever wants to do.

“No, it's not that. I just want to prepare you in case it's terrible. And apologize in advance.”

Kurt turns and removes his rubber gloves and lays them over the edge of the sink. He takes the dish towel from Blaine and tosses it away, keeping hold of Blaine's hand. “Sweetie, you do not have to apologize for other people, okay? You're amazing, and that's all that matters to me. Believe me, I can handle anything from homophobic hicks to stuck up Upper West Side socialites. I've dealt with them all. And I'll tell you a little secret.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Blaine's ear before whispering, “The socialites are far worse.”

Blaine laughs, shaking his head, and retrieves his towel.

**

There is a much worst-case scenario that Blaine hadn't been prepared for, hadn't even considered. Much, much worse than his parents coming across snobbish and offending Kurt in some way. Oh no, he hadn't even considered that his parents might invite some members of their extended family. And especially not that it would be Auntie Grace and her husband, Arthur.

When he spots Arthur out smoking his pipe in the yard, he nearly grabs Kurt and hightails it out of there, fake Thanksgiving or no fake Thanksgiving. Kurt looks confused as Blaine pulls him under the stairs and Cooper sneakily joins them, ducking down to fit into the cramped space.

“Coop, why the hell didn't you warn me they were here?”

“I did! I've only been texting you for the past half hour!”

Blaine curses and checks his phone. He'd forgotten to turn it back off silent after getting up that morning, and there are indeed several increasingly desperate messages from Cooper.

“Who's what now?” Kurt asks, joining in on their whispering.

Before Blaine has the chance to explain, his mother finds them and gives them an unimpressed look—all pinched mouth and flared nostrils. “Is that any way to behave, boys? You're not children any longer and we have guests.”

“Sorry, Mother,” Blaine and Cooper say in unison. Kurt blinks up at their mother with wide eyes and Blaine feels a stab of unending guilt for subjecting him to what is sure to be a torturous day.

“Kurt, goodness, what are my boys doing to you? What manners. I promise they did not learn that from me!” Their mother puts on her show smile and takes Kurt by the arm and into the den, Blaine following behind with Cooper, a horrible sense of foreboding filling him as he listens to her prattle on about their family.

She doesn't even allow Blaine to introduce Kurt to his father, but marches him right over to where he's sitting with Arthur next to the fireplace and does it herself. Blaine is on his way to butt in when Grace gets up from the piano bench and beats him there.

“And who are you?” he hears her ask, looking Kurt up and down with narrowed eyes.

“I'm Blaine's boyfriend,” Kurt answers, his voice so timid it almost sounds like he's asking her if this is correct.

She scoffs and turns to Blaine's father. “Good lord, Tom, I thought you had nipped all that ridiculous in the bud years ago.”

Kurt's face goes red and Blaine jumps in and takes him by the arm, removing him bodily and sparing his father one passing glance before whisking Kurt from the room.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry, Kurt. If I had known she was going to be here—You remember saying you'd taken on homophobic hicks and snotty socialites? Well, she's both at once. Well, besides the hick part, I suppose. After I came out she told me that her daughter was a homosexual once in college and she married a man, so I needed to stop with all of the nonsense and quit embarrassing my parents.”

“Oh, Blaine, I'm so sorry, honey.”

Blaine shakes his head. He's the one who should be sorry. He brought Kurt into this uncomfortable situation tonight. “We should leave,” he says. “Let's just go.”

“Please don't leave, Blaine.”

It's his father, standing in the doorway and watching them. He takes a few strides into the room. “I told her not to make any more comments of that nature and she agreed. Grudgingly, but she still did.”

Blaine sees red. It's easy enough to shut someone up so they cause as little drama as possible, but of course he would never dare to send her away. Blaine's feelings aren't important enough to make such a mess of a dinner party. “Of that nature? Really, Dad? She's a—”

“I know what she is, son, but she's family. And sometimes we have to be bigger men and rise above other's pettiness.”

“Easy for you to say,” he says under his breath, turning back to Kurt. “We can still leave if you want to.”

Kurt shrugs, giving Blaine a sad smile. “It's all right. I've had worse, I can assure you. It's something to laugh about with Santana later.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. She's like a once in a lifetime, deadly combo. How will I ever live with myself if I just run away before defeating her? Sorry, I played too many video games with Finn yesterday.” 

Blaine lets out a breathless laugh and hangs his head. Kurt is too perfect. God, he's so ridiculously in love and he doesn't even know if he should say it aloud. He almost does, almost forgets where they are and what's going on, but then Kurt bends over to catch his mouth in a soft kiss and when he blinks his eyes back open, he sees his father watching him with a peculiar expression. He almost looks... impressed?

Dinner is a fairly quiet affair after that, with Blaine's mother going overboard complimenting Kurt on everything from his hairline to his shoes, and telling him that he looks just like a model, and has he ever considered that career path? Blaine sits through it all, guzzling glass after glass of wine to stave off his nerves and build up a false sense of bravado in case Grace decides to go against her promise and make another rude remark about either Kurt or Blaine. He's almost disappointed when she doesn't, but it's likely the wine telling him that.

He says goodnight to his parents and Cooper, and smiles when Kurt kisses his mother primly on the cheek. He thinks he hears them making plans to go shopping together when she returns from Greece after Christmas, but he's not really sure.

“Come on, Drunky,” Kurt says as he helps Blaine into the back of a cab. “Let's get you home and pour you into bed.” He's not really sure what happens after that.


	7. Chapter 7

_Seven... Blaine is invited, Kurt is in love, and Burt is a good father._

As the plane touches down in Ohio, Blaine's nerves kick up another notch. Meeting Kurt's parents, as much as Kurt tries to wave it off like it's just another day, is a really big deal and Blaine is petrified he's not going to make a good enough impression. He's overheard many a telephone conversation between Kurt and his dad, and even his stepmother, Carole, and knows how close knit they all are and how much love there is between them. And with Rachel, Finn and Olivier gone on a cruise with Rachel's fathers this year, there won't be anything to take the full attention off of him: the new boyfriend.

Kurt reaches across and pries Blaine's hand off the strap of his bag and takes it in his, throwing him a knowing wink. He's told Blaine over and over that there is nothing to worry about, but it hasn't calmed Blaine down much. At least not for longer than a few minutes here and there.

A few hours earlier at Kurt's apartment, Blaine had been tempted to have a glass of wine to calm his nerves instead of helping Kurt pack up the rest of the Christmas gifts, which were still scattered all over his room from the night before when they had spent the evening wrapping and singing carols. He's glad that he didn't now. He doesn't think the smell of alcohol on his breath at 5pm would do much in the way of impressing Mr. Hummel.

And he very dearly wants to do just that It strikes him all the more when he sees the way Kurt's father hugs him, patting him on the back and squeezing hard, obvious love and pride in the man's eyes. He needs Burt Hummel to like him.

“It's good to meet you finally, Blaine,” Burt says, giving his hand a very firm shake. There is no battle of wills in the handshake, no sense that he's trying to be intimidating. Blaine likes him immediately. And Carole as well, who insists on taking Blaine's bag.

“What, because I'm a woman I can't carry a bag?” she says with her lips pursed when Blaine tries to tell her it's fine.

“No, of course not, I—” He stops trying to defend himself when Kurt and his family break up laughing at him.

“Don't argue with her,” Burt tells him. “She's as strong as an ox and she'll take you down.”

Carole nods at the three of them and leads the way to the car, pulling Blaine's suitcase behind her.

**

They spend Christmas Eve—well, the day before the actual eve—cooking all manner of things in the Hummels' kitchen. Carole and Burt help at first, but as soon as it's time to make dessert, Kurt takes over and kicks them jokingly out of the room to get ready before dinner. Blaine stays with him and helps put the finishing touches on the pecan pie before Kurt puts it in the oven to bake.

Blaine is accosted by Kurt just as he's swiping his finger through what remains in the bowl of the sugar mixture. He grips Blaine's wrist and lifts his hand, wrapping his lips around the sugary finger and sucking. Blaine can feel Kurt's tongue swirling around his finger, see his cheeks hollow out as he sucks. He clears his throat and tries to look away, but he just can't. Even if this is the most inappropriate location in the world for this, he just can't stop himself. He presses Kurt's body up against the counter and takes Kurt's face between both of his hands and licks and sucks every last bit of the taste of the pecan pie filling from Kurt's sweet mouth. 

Kurt is moaning into the kiss and sucking Blaine's bottom lip into his mouth when a throat is cleared behind them.

“You boys might want to save room for dinner and not fill up on each other's faces,” Burt says, then snorts a laugh and leaves the kitchen to join Carole in the dining room, where she is laughingly attempting to chastise him.

Blaine pulls back and straightens his clothes. _Shit_. That was not the sort of impression he wanted to make either. He'd even feigned sleep the night before when Kurt seemed as though he might want to get up to some funny business in his childhood bed. And had gone to sleep with a painful hard-on for his troubles, but God, the last thing he wants is for Kurt's parents to overhear that. Or see him practically dry-humping their son in their kitchen. He sighs and rubs a hand across the back of his neck, moving over by the sink to start cleaning the dishes they'd dirtied making the pie.

“Blaine?” Kurt comes over and rests a hand on Blaine's tense back after a moment of silence between them. “He was only teasing. He didn't mean it the way I think you're thinking he did.”

Blaine fills up the sink with soapy water before turning around to look at Kurt. He nods his head. “I know. It's just—I'm a little uncomfortable with the whole _affection in front of the parents_ thing. Which I'm sure you can understand after meeting my family.”

Kurt tilts his head to one side and blinks down at Blaine, then reaches out and takes one of his damp hands and presses a kiss its palm. “You don't have to worry about my crazy aunts popping up and bitching us out. Promise. One of them is in Cleveland and the other in Orlando. They're not gonna be here.”

Blaine lets himself smile, shaking his head fondly. Kurt is just so—God, Blaine loves him.

“Dad and Carole don't care, Blaine. They'd probably be worried about our relationship if we _weren't_ affectionate with each other. Seriously. That's the way things are around here.”

“Okay,” Blaine says. “I'll try. Promise.”

“No more stiffening up when I feel you up under the dinner table then? Well, unless we're talking about your—”

Blaine laughs. “You're bad,” he says, and reaches into the sink to get some suds on the tips of his fingers to flick at Kurt.

**

After dinner, the four of them painfully full and sleepy, they change into pyjamas and gather in the living room to watch _It's A Wonderful Life_ , followed by _Gremlins_ , which, according to Burt, is a Christmas tradition started by Kurt's mom when they first got married.

Halfway through the first movie, Blaine's eyes begin to feel very heavy. He's been leaning on Kurt's shoulder for the better part of an hour, having been physically put there after a few minutes of sitting stiffly two feet away. Kurt must catch one of Blaine's slow blinks, because he slides his feet out from under him and lays his legs out straight, then tugs Blaine down so that his head is resting comfortably in his warm lap.

Blaine looks up at him through foggy eyes as he yawns and Kurt smiles down, patting him gently on his still full and swollen belly. The lights from the Christmas tree are reflecting in Kurt's eyes and making his pale skin glow warm and Blaine sighs happily, his eyes closing for a moment. He forces them back open when he can still feel Kurt's gaze on him. “Best Christmas ever,” Blaine mouths at him, and Kurt's smile is wide and joyous. He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Blaine's lips and another to his forehead.

“Go ahead and sleep, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I can get you up to my room.”

Blaine closes his eyes and snuggles in, turning his head towards the television, a smile still curling his lips. He opens his eyes once more before drifting into sleep, and Burt is watching him intently. Blaine thinks he sees him wipe at his eyes, but he isn't quite sure, and his own eyelids are like hundred pound weights bearing downwards. He can still hear the movie, hears about how every time a bell rings an angel gets its wings. He thinks about Kurt again and he's still smiling when he loses consciousness.

**

He doesn't remember getting up to Kurt's bed, but he's there at whatever ridiculous hour it is that Kurt shakes him awake, beaming and bouncing on the mattress. “Santa came! Santa came!” he crows and Blaine swats him away and turns over onto his front.

He grunts and burrows into the nice, toasty blankets, Kurt's bouncing jostling his body to the middle of the bed. “Presents, Blaine,” he whines, shaking him by the arm. “Presents!”

“Oh my God,” Blaine grumbles when he doesn't let up. “Are you five years old?”

“Maybe,” Kurt says, laughing, and strips the blankets away and begins slapping Blaine on the butt. “Get up, get up, get up!”

“If you don't take your hands off of my ass, I'll be up all right, but not the way you mean.”

“Blaine Anderson, that's just naughty! If you get outta bed you can maybe perhaps have a cup of your very favourite coffee that I maybe brought with me from New York just for today... possibly.”

Blaine turns over and blinks up at Kurt. He's looking down from above, his hair in disarray, eyes wide and a positively manic smile spread across his face. He really does look like a five year old. “Have you been mainlining sugar all night? Because you look tweaked out.”

“Shut up!” Kurt pouts and plops down on his ass on the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You're ruining my fun, Scrooge. I want to open presents!”

Blaine laughs, his voice sounding gravelly still, and Kurt leans over and smushes his pout against Blaine's smile.

Underneath the Christmas tree looks as though Santa Claus did indeed pay a visit to the Hummels' house and left a stack of brightly wrapped packages behind. And Blaine finds, as he watches Kurt snoop through the gifts, glancing periodically towards the kitchen to be sure he doesn't get caught by his parents, that several are actually addressed _From Santa_. He smiles to himself and sips his delicious coffee, snuggling in behind Kurt on the rug next to the tree.

Burt brings in a carafe of coffee for refills, Carole coming behind him with a tray of fruit salad and pastries. “Kurt never gives us time to make anything substantial for breakfast first,” she stage whispers to Blaine with a wink. He grins at her and takes a Danish with a nod of thanks.

With the way Kurt was hovering over the gifts like a ravenous dog over a bone, Blaine had expected ripping and slashing and for it all to be over in minutes, but Kurt is a very slow and meticulous unwrapper of gifts. Burt hands them out one by one and they sit and watch as each member of the family opens their gift and thanks the giver. Blaine is embarrassed with the way Kurt's parents have spoiled even him. When he tells them it's too much, Carole assures him that those gifts had been left by Santa Claus, not her and Burt.

“Told ya,” Kurt leans over to say, then closes his mouth over Blaine's last bite of Danish and chews it smugly.

Blaine has gone in the kitchen to start another pot of coffee when everything goes wrong.

“Who's this one for?” he hears Burt ask, and then Kurt answering that it's for Burt himself, from Blaine. They had run out of gift tags while wrapping the night before they flew in, so he thinks nothing of the exchange, just starts the coffee brewing and returns to the living room.

Once in the doorway, he learns of his mistake.

“Not that one!” he gasps, tripping over his own feet in his haste to stop Burt from lifting the lid off the box in his hands. But he's too late. Burt holds up a pair of shiny silver handcuffs with a furrowed brow.

“Oh my God,” Blaine groans, turning the Kurt. “That's not the right box.”

“Who's it for, then?” Burt asks, bemused. He's holding the cuffs out like they're soiled.

“Kurt. I mean—not from me. From Cooper. I mean, Cooper bought them, but it was a joke. I was supposed to—”

“Cooper did what now?” Kurt asks, face scrunched up in confusion.

Blaine takes a deep breath and attempts to reclaim his faculties. “The beginning of October when you were sick? Cooper was trying to be funny and he bought those for you, and I slipped the box under your bed, meaning to get rid of it later, but I forgot. And then I told you your dad's gift was the one without the tag, and you obviously found _that_...”

Kurt looks amused now, his mouth crooked as he holds in a smile.

“Who's Cooper?” Burt asks. He does not look amused.

“My brother.”

“Why's your brother buying Kurt handcuffs?”

 _Oh fuck_. “Um... probably for me, I mean, not for me to—but for Kurt to, on me—Oh my God, I can't believe I just said that out loud. I'm going to just take these...” He walks over to Burt and slides the cuffs out of his hand and drops them back into the open box, then covers them with the lid and takes them out of Burt's sight. “My brother is an idiot,” he says. “I'm so sorry.”

After he's sat back down next to Kurt and hidden his very warm face in his hands, he hears it begin. At first he thinks that Carole is coughing, but soon realizes that it's her muffled laughter. Kurt joins in soon after, high-pitched and hysterical, with Burt coming in last with his deep chuckle.

“That is the single most horrifying thing that has ever happened to me,” he says, and they laugh all the harder. A hand claps him on the back, hard, different from the way Kurt does it, and feels like he can let out a breath. It takes him until after lunch to be able to laugh about it, however.

**

They stay for the entire week between Christmas and New Year's, eating and laughing and playing board games and even having a snowball fight one morning when they wake up to a foot of freshly fallen snow on the ground. Blaine feels like a part of the family by mid-week, and he doesn't relish the thought of flying back to New York on the second of January.

Burt and Carole have a party to go to on New Year's Eve, and Kurt is helping Carole do her hair in the bathroom when Burt approaches Blaine. Blaine has been standing next to the Christmas tree for the last half hour, looking at the ornaments and the way the lights reflect off of the window's glass. He's always been a fan of Christmas trees. He'd always hated when it was time to take the tree down after the holidays.

“Hey, Blaine,” Burt says, “I wanted to talk to you a minute while Kurt is preoccupied.”

Blaine looks away from the tree, his eyes wide. He knows he probably looks petrified, but this is Kurt's father and he sounds pretty serious.

“Nothin' bad, I swear,” Burt reassures, shaking his head. “I just wanted to thank you. I've never seen Kurt so happy, and I know that's on account'a you. I worry about him up there in the big city— I know he's fine, he's got friends and he likes his jobs and he's doin' good, but I'm his dad and I worry about him bein' lonely. He's always been pretty quiet about dating and stuff like that, but since he met you... I just noticed a real difference in him. Every time we talk he's laughing and telling me stories about you guys an'... he's just so happy. So thank you for that. For makin' my boy happy.”

Blaine swallows the lump that has appeared in his throat and nods his head. God, he feels like he should be the one saying thank you. How Burt managed to raise such an amazing man is beyond him. “He makes me so happy, too, Burt,” he says instead. “He's amazing. The best thing that has ever happened to me.” And when it comes out of his mouth, he knows that it's the truth. Everything in his life could fall by the wayside and he could adjust, as long as he had Kurt. “I will make it my life's work to keep him happy. I promise,” he says quietly.

Burt nods, teary-eyed, and reaches out to pull Blaine into a hug. His embrace is firm and all-encompassing. Blaine feels small and cared for and like a little kid. Burt smells like Old Spice and motor oil and coffee and it's all so comforting. He sniffles, realizing that his eyes are wet just as Burt pulls back, patting him on the shoulder.

“Hey, what's wrong, kid?” Burt asks.

Blaine shrugs and wipes at his eyes, embarrassed. “Honestly? I'm just a little—I don't think my own dad has hugged me like that since I was about twelve years old.” He sniffs and laughs a little, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Well,” Burt says, “guess you're due for another one then,” and he pulls Blaine back into his arms.

**

Kurt orders pizza and they get into their sweats and get ready to watch _New Year's Rockin' Eve_ on the TV.

When the pizza arrives, Kurt brings the box and stack of paper napkins into the living room and drops them both unceremoniously onto the coffee table next to their half-drunk glasses of wine, then plops himself down on the sofa next to Blaine, stretching out his legs.

As he opens the pizza box one-handed, half lying, half sitting, he says, “I know it just kills you to eat without a knife and fork, but I'm not going to get them, because I'm way too lazy.” Then he practically smacks himself in the face with a slice of pizza as he attempts to take his first bite.

Blaine sits back and watches him, amazed that this strange creature even exists. In company he's so put together. None of those people would ever believe that Kurt Hummel would look and act as he's currently doing. Blaine smiles down at him and picks up a napkin and his own slice of pizza.

“I feel like people think you're so prim and proper,” Blaine decides to tell him. “And that I'm one of the few who get to see you like this.”

Kurt snorts and takes another bite of pizza. “That's all part of my mystique,” he says.

“Your mystique, huh?”

“Oh yes. And you are one of the privileged few who knows that's all it is. You should feel very special.”

“Oh, I do. Believe me,” Blaine tells him with a chuckle.

He watches as Kurt takes another bite of pizza, a long string of cheese dropping down onto his chin. “I love you,” Blaine says.

Kurt's eyes widen and he chews quickly, swallowing and then opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “I love you, too,” he replies, and Blaine leans in to share a very greasy, cheesy kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

_Eight... Kurt gets a call, Blaine starts a fight, and it's such a waste of coffee._

When they land at the airport on January the second, Kurt has a message on his phone from one of the producers of _Cabaret_.

He stops dead in the terminal, Blaine regarding him with worry as he replays the message over and over and over again.

_Mr. Hummel, our understudy has been injured and will be unable to continue with his duties. We would like to offer you the role. Please call us before Friday to confirm your interest and availability._

He plays it once more just to be sure, gawping at Blaine until Blaine finally can't take it anymore.

“God, Kurt, what's wrong? Did something happen? Your folks, Santana...?”

Kurt shakes his head, exiting out of his voicemail and wiping at his suddenly tear-filled eyes. “I got it. Understudy. The Emcee in _Cabaret_. They must have called while we were in the air—”

Blaine whoops loudly, dropping his bag and jumping into the air. He grabs Kurt and pulls him into his arms, and they jump up and down together in a circle. “I knew they were nuts to pass you by!” Blaine tells him, leaning in to land a smacking kiss on his lips.

“I can't believe it!”

“Well believe it, mister!”

Kurt is in a daze the rest of the way home. They stop and buy a bottle of champagne and drink the entire thing before passing out in Blaine's bed that night.

**

The next week when Kurt begins rehearsals, the romance and excitement of a Broadway role quickly begins to wane. Well, maybe not wane, but some of the shine does wear off.

“Do I have a stamp on my forehead that says _please sexually harass me_? Because I'm pretty sure Robin, this dancer guy, and the director, Gus, are getting the idea from _somewhere_ that I would like them to continue.” He throws himself down on the couch in Blaine's trailer and covers his face with a sweatshirt that he finds thrown haphazardly over the back. It smells like Blaine's cologne and that calms him somewhat.

“I told you to complain to someone in charge about it, Kurt. You can't just let it carry on.”

Kurt lets out a frustrated growl, eating sweatshirt for his trouble (it smells a lot better than it tastes) and reiterates for the tenth time that he can't do that. “They'll just find some way to let me go, Blaine. It's the damn _director_. Ugh. I can deal with it. It was just particularly obnoxious today.” He feels like all they've done is have this same conversation over and over, and he's barely even seen Blaine since Sunday. It's the longest they've gone without having sex since they started dating.

“Well at least you wouldn't have to put up with it any longer,” Blaine says back with a sniff. When Kurt removes the sweatshirt from his face, he sees that Blaine's lips are pursed and his nose in the air.

“What, so I should just say screw my dreams of Broadway because of some douchebag creep hitting on me? Hell no! When I'm out on that stage, I won't give a single shit about any of that.”

“Fine, then why are you griping about it?” Blaine snaps.

Kurt sits up, narrowing his eyes. “Fine. I won't bring it up again.”

Blaine turns away and goes to find his cardigan, pulling it on and then heading to the back of the trailer to where he left his lunch. He's on break from filming and they're supposed to be spending a nice, enjoyable hour together. So much for that.

He comes back after a moment with a mug of tea in his hands and big, wet-looking eyes. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “I don't want you to stop talking to me about it. Please don't.”

Kurt nods stiffly. He doesn't want to upset Blaine any more than he already seems to have, but he's had a really, really bad day, and a little sympathy from his boyfriend doesn't seem too much to ask. After a moment, he says as much.

Blaine nods. “I know. I've been having a pretty rough week myself, and being away from you... I just miss you is all.”

That breaks Kurt's resolve and he goes over to sit on the arm of Blaine's chair. “I miss you, too, honey,” he says, and kisses Blaine gently on the forehead.

“Will you stay and watch me film?”

“I'd love to.”

**

They are filming The Story Chair sequence for the Australia episode, which Blaine tells Kurt is all kinds of fun. He's even sporting a precious kangaroo printed bowtie for the occasion, along with a gorgeous wine cardigan and mustard pants. He's looks amazing, as usual.

When everything is ready and the director has called action, Blaine dramatically drops himself half into The Story Chair— or the odd, uncomfortable contraption that is its placeholder anyway—picking himself back up with eyes wide a second later. He grabs a book out from underneath him and lets his mouth fall open.

“Oh my goodness! I was so impatient, I almost sat on my book! That could have hurt.” He widens his eyes again and holds the book up to his eyeline, shaking his head.

“We've got to make sure we're always patient, don't we? Rushing can cause all sorts of accidents.”

Kurt has to stifle a laugh. Seeing Blaine in action is so fucking cute. He checks The Story Chair for any other possible pointy objects, then checks it again, asking the camera if it thinks he's safe to sit down before doing so. Once he's seated, he pretends to wipe his brow in relief before getting comfy and cracking open the book.

Each time Blaine reads the book, he does it differently: stressing certain words and doing voices for the characters. He's so perfect for the role he plays. It makes Kurt sad to know that even though Blaine loves his job, it's not his real dream.

After they've got enough takes, Blaine invites Kurt to get a coffee before he has to leave to go back and rehearse. “That was so cute,” he tells Blaine, accepting his cup of coffee with a smile. “You're so good at that. If I were on a kid's show I'd be like: Listen up, you little shits!”

Blaine shakes his head fondly and takes a sip of his coffee. “You would not.”

“Would.”

“You are silly.” He bops Kurt on the nose. He tries to do it a second time, but Kurt shifts away and sticks out his tongue.

“Uh uh, it's true. I'm terrible with kids... you've seen me with Olivier.”

Blaine takes another drink of his coffee and rests back against the wall next to the coffee cart, a little, secret smile on his lips. “So you _did_ bring him along to my show just so you could see me.”

“ _Duh_. Do you think that brat even watches your show? He doesn't have time for TV; he's too busy putting strychnine in the well.”

“What well? There are no wells. He does not. And I'm pretty sure you stole that from _Anne of Green Gables_.” Blaine giggles and tugs on the ends of Kurt's scarf.

“No, you're right. That's a bit too diabolical for him. He's more likely to spit in people's coffee or something plebeian like that.”

“You're terrible,” Blaine tells him, but he says it through a grin.

“That's what I'm trying to tell you, Blaine. That's the whole, entire argument we're having.”

“I can prove you wrong still.”

“Oh yeah? How? I'd like to see you try.”

Blaine tilts his head, chewing on his bottom lip and gives Kurt a look of pure challenge. “I'm doing a little sing-along at the children's hospital two weeks from Sunday, remember? Come with me and help out.”

Kurt huffs, pretending to be put upon. “A whole crap ton of kids?”

“Yep.” Blaine is smiling when he takes another drink of his coffee. He already knows he's won.

“Fine,” Kurt grumbles. “But only because it's you.” He gives Blaine a kiss before buttoning up his coat and readjusting his scarf, then leans in again to kiss away Blaine's pout before he leaves to head back to rehearsal.

“I'll see you tonight, baby,” he promises. “At your place.” Blaine looks sad, almost wistful, as he waves goodbye.

**

The director, Gus, doesn't have time to openly stare at Kurt's ass or comment on how good he's sure to look in the very form-fitting costume when Kurt gets back for late afternoon choreography. Brian, The Emcee, is stumbling and making a complete ass out of himself in front of the entire cast. The fiasco comes to a close in a way that makes Kurt both shudder in disgust and want to escape the room so that he can laugh uproariously: Brian, being told off by Gus for the twentieth time, opens his mouth and vomits all over him. Kurt's nose picks up the stench of rum from the other side of the studio.

“Blaine!” he shouts excitedly into the apartment after letting himself in with his newly acquired key. Since they've had so little time together, they swapped keys and finally started leaving clothes and toiletries at each other's places.

Blaine looks dishevelled when he emerges from his bedroom and if Kurt could manage any other emotion but elation at this moment, he would feel guilty that he very likely woke his boyfriend.

“Oh my God, Blaine, I got it! I've been moved up to lead. I'm the freakin' Emcee!” He jumps in place, not caring how ridiculous he must look. He's going to be playing a main character in a Broadway revival. On _Broadway_. Broadway! “That idiot Brian got drunk on break today and barfed all over Gus while we were learning choreography. Can you believe that?”

Blaine makes a sarcastic sort of face and nods his head. “He's Gus now, is he? And he chose you to take the lead.” He lets out a snort of a laugh and Kurt's smile falls from his face. “You'd better be careful that he doesn't expect something in return.”

Kurt loses his grip on the cup of Starbucks coffee that he brought over for Blaine and it falls onto the hardwood floor. He can smell it as it pools at his feet, but he doesn't look down. He can't believe that Blaine would— “Right, because how else would I possibly get the part without sucking some old man's cock, is that it?”

“Kurt, that's not what I—”

“Really? Because that's how it sounded to me.”

Blaine shakes his head, looking down at the spilled coffee instead of at Kurt's face. “It's just that—doesn't it seem the least bit fishy to you? He's being a creep with you, and the understudy before just left mysteriously, and now the lead—”

“He broke his back skiing over Christmas, that's not very mysterious. Didn't peg you for a conspiracy nut,” Kurt says between clenched teeth.

“Aren't there like, two other understudies?”

Kurt shakes his head. He can't believe Blaine is treating him like this. Blaine, who has never been anything but supportive and encouraging. He rucks his bag up on his shoulder and steps over the mess on the floor. “Yes,” he says, “but for your information, I'm the best one. And not because I can give a mean blowjob.”

As he's taking long strides back to the door, he hears Blaine call him back. He doesn't turn around.

**

He's too angry to cry on the train. Too angry to cry until he walks in through the door of his own apartment and sees Santana.

“Who do I gots ta cut?” she asks, and he loses any semblance of control over his emotions.

Santana holds him while he cries well into the night. Kurt had half expected Blaine to follow him home, and it's almost worse when he doesn't show up. The hurt is so much worse than the anger.

He feels like a zombie the next day, but he hides it under false smiles and work ethic. He will keep this job, because he is talented and deserves it.

He gets in the shower immediately when he gets home. His phone had been silent all day. No calls, no messages. He refuses to go to Blaine when he did nothing wrong, but God, he wants him. He wants to hear him say he didn't mean it, because if Kurt is being honest with himself, Blaine's reaction shot his confidence all to hell. He watched Gus closely all day, terrified that he was going to do or say something that would prove Blaine right. But if anything, he had been more professional with Kurt than he ever had been before. They were behind schedule with everything and maybe he was finally getting serious.

Kurt is wiping his nose with a tissue and drying his hair simultaneously when he hears Santana's quick, aggressive speech coming from the kitchen.

“You think that's enough?” she's growling. “You're a day too late and full of shit. I will fuck you up, Pipsqueak. Nobody hurts my family.”

Kurt hurries out, dropping his towel in the hall and tightening his robe's belt around his waist.

“ _Santana_.” She looks over her shoulder at him and her ferocious expression softens. Kurt has to blink back a threatening wave of tears when he spots Blaine cowering in front of her. He doesn't look like he's slept since Kurt left the night before. His hair is a puffy mess and he's still wearing the same pair of sweatpants.

“Fine,” she says. She turns her gaze back on Blaine. “That counts for two strikes.” She holds up two fingers in his face. “I wouldn't chance getting another if I were you.”

She gives Kurt a peck on the cheek before leaving the apartment. “Call if you need me,” she says, watching Blaine as she opens the door and steps out into the corridor.

“She's very protective of you,” Blaine says once Santana's gone. His voice is small and he's curled in on himself. He looks ashamed. And Kurt wants to go to him and uncurl his shoulders and hug him and kiss him and take him to bed and mould himself around his body and drift off into a restful sleep which they both obviously need so badly...

“She loves me,” he answers instead.

Blaine looks up at him, his eyes round and wet and so damn sad. “So do I,” he says. “Kurt, I'm so, so sorry.”

Kurt stays in the doorway, watching him, waiting for more. “I know how much this role, this chance means to you, and you deserve it, Kurt. Don't think for a single moment that you don't. You've worked so hard and you're so amazing and—I didn't mean what I said. I was jealous. And Cooper was on the phone that day and he said, 'if the director likes him so much, why doesn't he just use that to his advantage.' So I had that in my head and I—”

“You can't possibly think that I would ever—”

Blaine shakes his head quickly back and forth. “No! Of course I don't. It was just—it's been really upsetting me hearing you talk about how he's been treating you, but I know you hate it and I know you wouldn't. I'm sorry, I—It all just triggered what was already—” He sighs and leans against the counter, running his hands over his face and through his crazy hair.

“I'm jealous of you.” His voice is muffled, but Kurt can make it out through his hands which are still covering his face. “You're doing what I've always wanted and I'm jealous, and so I acted like a complete jerk.”

“Blaine, I know the show isn't what you had planned, but you're so _good_. It's amazing!”

“ _That was so cute_. That's what you said the other day when you watched me filming. Cute. That's all I'll ever be. Some cutesy, fluff kid's show star. I'll never be taken seriously, Kurt. Ever. I'll always be that guy from the kid's show. I'm never going to get cast in anything of substance.”

“Yes you will, Blaine. Because you have so much talent, and people know it. You're mesmerizing. And who says a kid's show can't have substance? I've learned things from watching your show. Screw that! I'm an adult and I watched every Saturday. And, well, maybe I'm not the best example, since I've always had a raging crush on you, but—Even Santana watches, Blaine. _Santana_.”

“ _Kurt_.”

“It'll happen for you. It will. I have faith.”

“Well I guess you're a much better boyfriend than I am.” Blaine's chin wobbles a little and he wipes at his eyes. “I'm sorry I let my stupid crap come between us and that I lashed out at you like that and—”

Kurt shushes Blaine, walking towards him to take him into his arms. “I forgive you, honey. I love you too much not to.”

“I love you, too.” Blaine sniffles into Kurt's shoulder and leans in to kiss him on the neck. “I'm sorry.”

“And you know, if you ever want to change your image, we could always make a sex tape.”

Blaine bursts out laughing and Kurt pulls back and kisses him, feeling something warm and wet on his bare forearm. “Why is there coffee all over the counter and floor?”

“I, ah... I brought it for you, but Santana smacked it out of my hand.”

Kurt sighs. “She means well, but destroying my apology treats isn't really helpful, is it?”

Blaine's smile looks weak, but at least it's there. “Well, luckily she didn't get her hands on the best one.” He pulls a container out of his messenger bag and lifts the lid. Kurt peaks in, saliva flooding his mouth at the very sight of the cheesecake.

“Lemon and pistachio.”

“Yeah. I really am sorry, Kurt.”

“I know. And saying it with the best cake known to humankind is a good start. Come on, I'll get forks.”

When they lay together in Kurt's bed that night, clothing stripped from their bodies, they simply cuddle close together and touch—soft strokes and gentle caresses and tender kisses. They fall asleep wrapped around each other and wake in the very same way.


	9. Chapter 9

_Nine... Blaine asks a question, Cooper gets dramatic, and Kurt is a good friend._

When Cooper uses his key to let himself into Blaine's apartment, Blaine is waiting for him. He hears the rattle of the keys from outside in the hallway and goes to stand in front of the door with his hands on his hips.

“Good morning, Cooper,” he greets as soon as his brother peers around the door. “How's that knocking going for you?”

“No secrets between brothers, didn't I tell you?” Cooper chucks Blaine under the chin and pushes past him into the apartment. “What's with the secrecy? Have you got a guy here or something?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Cooper grins down at him and winks. “Is it Kurt?”

“Of course it's Kurt!” Blaine huffs. “Why the hell would you even ask that?”

Kurt, probably having heard Blaine say his name, comes out of the bedroom with a sheet around his waist. When he sees Cooper he lets out a startled squeak and quickly ducks into the bathroom.

Cooper chuckles. “That was some pretty sweet sex hair,” he says. “Good job, Blainey.”

Blaine rolls his eyes, and is just about to ask to what he owes the pleasure of Cooper's uninvited and unannounced company this morning, when Cooper gets a conspiratorial look on his face and grabs Blaine by the arm, pulling him into the kitchen.

“Did you do it yet?” he whispers, eyes flitting back and forth from Blaine's face to the bathroom door where Kurt is.

Blaine shakes his head. “No. I was going to the other day, but—We had a fight and it seemed like a bad time. I don't know—”

“You just made up from a fight and you didn't ask him? That's the best possible time! All of those forgiveness pheromones.”

“I'm _pretty_ sure that's not an actual thing. But don't quote me or anything.” Cooper just nods at him, completely oblivious to his sarcasm.

“Really, Squirt, you should do it. I'll go and leave you two alone. You're still meeting me for lunch on Tuesday, right?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Okay. You can tell me all about it then.” Cooper gives him a quick hug and then he's gone as quickly as he arrived.

**

It's the first full day they've spent together since Christmas vacation in Ohio, and Blaine is cherishing every moment of it. They're currently cuddling on Kurt's couch, the credits of a sickeningly sweet romcom rolling on the screen of the TV behind them.

“What should we do now?' Blaine asks.

Kurt cocks an eyebrow and smirks. “I vote another round of makeup sex.”

Blaine laughs. “Right here in the living room?”

“Hell no. I have no idea what Santana is up to today, but she might turn up at any minute.”

“Well let's go to your room then. I want to really take our time, seeing as we have all day for once.”

An hour and a half later, they're both lying, sweaty and sated, smiling at each other on Kurt's bare mattress. They stripped off the soiled sheets but were too lazy to get some new ones out of the linen closet.

“That was fun,” Kurt says with a yawn. “Maybe we should fight more often.”

Blaine pouts out his bottom lip. “Next time can it be your fault, because I still feel horrible.”

“Aww, baby.” Kurt rolls against Blaine's body and takes him into his arms. “I forgive you. You can stop it with the guilt. We just need to talk about stuff when we start getting frustrated, okay? Open communication and all that. Because despite the mind-blowing makeup sex, I really don't want to fight with you.”

“Me neither.” Blaine kisses Kurt gently on the lips, thinking about what Cooper said about perfect timing. Maybe he was right. Blaine has missed spending time with Kurt since he started rehearsals for Cabaret, and if they were coming home to the same place every night after work, they would at least get to sleep in the same bed, even if all they did was sleep. Sometimes simply sleeping next to Kurt's warm body is better than any amount of sex could be.

“Kurt?”

“Hmm?” Kurt nuzzles his nose against Blaine's clavicle and tightens his arms around his waist.

“I've been wanting to ask you something. I, ah... I love being with you all the time, you know? As much as possible, and that's been difficult lately with both of us being so busy and I—I was wondering if you'd move in with me?”

Kurt's smile fades from his eyes and Blaine wishes he could take back everything he just said. Cooper was wrong. It's too soon and Blaine is an idiot. Of course he's an idiot, he listened to _Cooper_.

“I can't. I—” Blaine deflates a little and Kurt holds him more tightly, squeezing his waist with both hands. “Oh, honey, don't look like that. I wish I could. I _want_ to, but it's just... _Santana_. I've been living with her practically since moving to New York, and then Rachel moved out with Finn and it's just been the two of us ever since. And she can't afford rent on her own. I can't do that to her, she's—I'm sorry, Blaine.”

Blaine shakes his head and kisses Kurt on the cheek. “No, it's okay. You're a good friend, Kurt. And I know you love her a lot.”

“I do, yeah. She's kind of my soulless sister.”

Blaine huffs a laugh against Kurt's hair and kisses him again. He sort of wants to cry but he's not going to let himself.

“You're upset, aren't you?” Kurt pulls back a little and places both of his hands on Blaine's face.

Blaine shakes his head again. “No, just disappointed. But I get it. It's okay.”

Kurt nods and pulls him in for a kiss. “Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you, too.”

They go find fresh sheets for the bed after another half an hour of naked snuggling, then run across the hall to jump into the shower, where Blaine gets a little distracted in the middle of washing his hair and ends up on his knees in the stream of water, Kurt moaning above him and holding himself upright with the slippery tiled wall.

Santana is in the kitchen making pasta sauce when Blaine ventures out to look for something for dinner. She's stirring the sauce a tad violently, as though it has offended her. She narrows her eyes at Blaine when he says hello.

She picks up a spoon off the counter and dips it into the pot, bringing out a bit of sauce to taste. She shrugs her shoulders after her taste test and resumes her stirring. “Just a heads up,” she says, just when Blaine is sure that she's decided not to talk to him at all. “Kurt promised me his sperm if I ever decide to have a baby, so that shit is not all yours to guzzle, you tiny little cock monster.”

Blaine is trapped between amusement and embarrassment, because she likely heard them in the shower just now and could make out exactly what was going on.

“Hey, I was drunk when I agreed to that,” Kurt says, coming into the room. He walks over to Santana and picks up her discarded spoon, taking a taste of her sauce. “Needs salt,” he says.

“You're always drunk when you agree to everything,” she tells him, snatching back the spoon. “It was a binding contract.”

“And what's a cock monster anyway?” Kurt asks her.

She smirks over at Blaine. “Your boyfriend. Like Cookie Monster, only hungry for cock.”

“So what are you, a vagina monster?” Blaine asks her.

She turns and raises her eyebrows. “It's so cute when you try to be funny. You're such a damn _cupcake_. It's no wonder sweet tooth Hummel wanted to devour you at first glance and hasn't stopped since. You regenerate that fattening, sickly sweet frosting and he just goes at you again.”

“Lucky me,” Blaine says.

And Santana actually laughs, throws her head back and laughs wholeheartedly. Blaine feels a bit proud of himself, and especially when she gives him a wink before turning back to her pasta sauce.

**

Blaine is off the next day and had made plans the week before to meet Cooper for lunch. Cooper's filming is running over when Blaine arrives at the set, but the staff know he's Cooper's brother, so they lead him on, warning him to be nice and quiet and he can watch as they finish up filming the scene.

Cooper has starred in _Diamonds in the Rough_ for nearly six years now, and this is the first time Blaine has witnessed him filming—and wow... well, he doesn't really have any other possible descriptors but that.

Cooper—or Dr. Charlie Sandusky, as he is in his long, white coat after all—is at the hospital doing late rounds when a masked, knife-wielding man comes up behind him. The struggle is chaotic and yet obviously choreographed. The man aims for his heart, but Cooper dodges his arm, falling against the wall of the set, and the man comes at him again, but he ducks. The bad guy trips him up and he sprawls across the empty gurney in the corner, and the man digs in his knife at last, missing Cooper's heart but getting him under the ribs. He pulls the knife out and goes to stab again, but a nurse enters the room and the man dashes away as she screams. The cameraman zooms in on Cooper's pained visage as he slides dramatically down to the floor, clutching his gut to the sound of the still screaming nurse.

 

Apparently the engagement of Dr. Sandusky to the granddaughter of the head of the van der Veen crime family displeased somebody, Blaine muses as his brother lies on the floor covered in fake blood.

Cooper leaps up and bows to a round of applause.

He meets Blaine outside his dressing room after getting cleaned up and out of his bloodstained costume.

“That was some scene, eh, Squirt?”

Blaine nods, widening his eyes. “Sure was. You're really... too much. You're too much, Coop.” Cooper grins and nods, clapping Blaine on the back and they get bundled up to step out into the winter chill.

“So?” Cooper nudges Blaine with his elbow as they walk down the street to a nearby deli that they both enjoy.

Blaine deflates and Cooper's face twists in confusion. “He said no? How is that even possible?”

“He opened his mouth and formed the word. It's not all that difficult.”

Cooper shakes his head and opens the deli's door, pushing Blaine inside and finding them a table by the window. “Don't be a smartass, Blainey. You know what I mean.”

Blaine sighs and unwinds his scarf, laying it over the back of his chair. “He was just being a good friend to Santana. He said he wants to live with me, but he can't just abandon her with no one to cover the other half of the rent.”

“So tell him to keep paying rent at his old place and not at yours. Problem solved. You make plenty to cover everything.”

Blaine rolls his eyes. “I somehow don't think Kurt would go for that, Cooper.”

“Why not? Why do people have to quibble about stupid things like money? As long as everyone's happy, who cares who's paying for what? And besides, who doesn't want a sugar daddy? Even Charlie wanted a sugar daddy once, in the dark days when he was in debt to the van der Veens and addicted to pills.”

Blaine screws up his face. “What? Charlie who was addicted to what now?”

Cooper slaps his palms flat on the table. “My character! Really, Blaine, did you not catch that amazing display of acting prowess just now? I swear, you are so wrapped up in yourself sometimes it's sad. Self-absorbed.” He shakes his head.

Blaine bites his tongue. What's the point of telling Cooper that it takes one to know one? Their parents raised them well. “I'm sorry, Coop. I'm kind of upset because my boyfriend said no when I asked him to move in with me yesterday, I didn't mean to be so callous to poor Charlie and his drug problems.”

“And why do you think he got stabbed?” Cooper says, coming in close and whispering, as not to make the other patrons aware of the hot _Diamonds in the Rough_ spoilers. “He still owes money to the van der Veens, and he thinks he can marry Randolph's daughter? Pssh.” He throws himself back in his seat and begins removing his jacket. “Anyway,” he says once he's finished, “what do you want? Lunch is on me.”

When Blaine is halfway through his sandwich, he raises his head. “Do you think it was too soon? It's only been six months. Maybe he was just making an excuse so he didn't hurt my feelings.”

“I don't know, Blainey,” Cooper answers. He uses his sandwich to point at Blaine. “You won't know unless you ask him.”

And that's probably the best advice that Cooper has ever given him. Much better than that time he told him to drink a mixture of raw eggs and orange juice so he could blow his performance as 'the sick kid' in his third grade play out of the water. He sure had. In fact, he'd thrown up so splendidly that the girl playing the nurse had slipped and fallen in it and then thrown up herself. He hadn't been asked back the following year.

He reminds himself of that instance every time he considers taking Cooper's advice again. Sometimes it doesn't dissuade him, but he thinks—as he drops what's left of his sandwich onto his plate in disgust at the memory—that this time it's working. He'll wait it out. If it takes another six months or another six years, he will wait until Kurt is ready.

He only hopes it doesn't take six years.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the children's songs in this chapter. But I was feeling very inspired by Raffi. :)

_Ten... Kurt sees the best side and Santana sets things in motion._

They stay at Blaine's on Saturday night and set the alarm to wake them in plenty of time on Sunday morning. A car is coming early to take them to the children's hospital.

Kurt is full of nervous energy. He can't believe how calm Blaine is as he showers and shaves and gels back his hair, like it's part of his everyday routine, getting up in front of a crowd of kids and singing and telling stories. Though it sort of is, Kurt supposes, only the children aren't usually live and in person.

He fidgets in the car as they drive along. Blaine doesn't say a word, just reaches over and holds both of Kurt's hands in his and continues to smile out the window at the bright winter sun.

They're rushed into the hospital when they arrive, and then upstairs to a large room with brightly coloured walls and a huge mat on the floor in the shape of the world. Kurt sits and watches as some people from Blaine's show wheel in a small piano and begin moving furniture around, getting the room ready for the small guests who are about to arrive. Blaine is sipping coffee and talking with his assistant, and Kurt sees a photographer in the back corner of the room, changing lenses and setting up lights and a tripod.

There is a strange hush of waiting over the room and Kurt sits, trying to appear as small as possible and as quiet as a mouse as he waits along with everyone else, nerves making his stomach flutter. Blaine catches his eye as he goes to sit down at the piano. He winks and starts fiddling with the keys. The notes he plays seem overly loud in the quiet of the room.

It seems like ages before the kids are led in in single file, some on their own, others attached to IVs, helpers or nurses accompanying them. Kurt feels his eyes sting at the sight of these children, sick, stuck in the hospital, and yet still smiling, excited. He remembers his dad calling him his 'little trooper' after his mom died, his voice always sounding awed. It confused Kurt at the time, but he understands his father's amazement now. The resilience of children is really something to behold.

Blaine greets them once they are all seated, smiling and thanking them as they cheer. He starts off singing _I'm in the Mood_ , a guy with shaggy hair accompanying him on the guitar.

_I'm in the mood for singing_  
 _I'm in the mood for clapping_  
 _I'm in the mood for whistling_

Kurt gets to his feet and does the actions along with the group of kids, grinning and laughing. Blaine sits at the piano afterwards and sings _Everything Grows_ and _I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing_.

He takes a break from the concert to sit down in a big, comfy chair and read them a story. They sit in rapt attention, hanging onto his every word. Kurt find himself doing the same: laughing at the funny parts, heart pumping during the action, sighing wistfully at the end. Blaine is mesmerizing, like Kurt told him.

“Now, who'd like to sing some more songs?” Blaine asks, smiling as the children cheer. He sets the book to the side and gets up out of his chair, which two of the show's staff whisk away. “I'm going to need a lot of help with this first song.” The shaggy-haired guitar player comes over and the kids all lean forward, Kurt along with them. He sits back and looks around nervously when Blaine sets his gaze on him. Surely he doesn't mean—

“This is my friend, Kurt. He's going to help me out with this one, because he speaks French much better than I do. You can all follow along as he shows you what to do.” Blaine motions Kurt over with a minute nodding of his head and if there weren't a room full of kids watching, he'd tell him where to stick his nod. As it is, all he can do is grin and bear it, and maybe whisper, “You're in so much trouble for this later,” under his breath when he gets in close.

Blaine just smiles and raises his eyebrows. “Savez-vous planter les choux?”

“Bien sûr.”

Blaine winks at him and then motions to the guitar guy, who starts up the song. And Kurt finds as he gets into it, he's laughing and dancing around Blaine and a few of the children who have ventured near the front.

_On les plante avec les mains, à la mode, à la mode  
On les plante avec les mains, à la mode de chez nous_

_On les plante avec le pied, à la mode, à la mode  
On les plante avec le pied, à la mode de chez nous_

He spins a little girl and she giggles when he does the motions of the last verse, pretending to plant the cabbages with his nose.

_On les plante avec le nez, à la mode, à la mode  
On les plante avec le nez, à la mode de chez nous_

Blaine takes Kurt by the hand and they bow in unison, then Kurt's dance partner bows with them before running back to her spot on the floor and plopping down with shining eyes and a wide grin.

“Another round of applause for Kurt, for helping us out on that one!” Blaine says, and Kurt feels himself blush as the kids clap and cheer.

**

“And now for the hard part,” Blaine tells him as they're having a snack after the show.

“What do you mean?”

“I'm going to go visit the kids who couldn't be moved from their rooms to see me.”

“The really sick ones, you mean?” Blaine nods, his mouth twitching sadly. “Oh, sweetie, I can come with you if you want me to.”

Blaine takes hold of Kurt's hand and smiles sweetly, his head tilted to the side. “Thank you for offering, but I think you're about to be accosted.”

“Huh?”

Kurt feels a tiny hand pulling at the bottom of his blazer and looks down to see his little dance partner blinking up at him.

“Mr. Kurt? Will you come and play charades with us? Only 'cause I don't have a partner and I think you'd be good at charades.”

“Oh, I—”

He looks over at Blaine who nods and winks. “ _Have fun_ ,” he mouths, and then he's being led away by one of his handlers. His shoulders have a bit of a sad slump to them and Kurt wants to go to him, but there is another insistent tug on his blazer.

“My name's Jaia,” she says when he looks down at her again.

“Well it's very nice to formally meet you, Jaia. Shall we?” He hooks out his elbow, which she reaches up to take with a giggle, and leads him towards the game of charades.

And Jaia was right in her assumption that Kurt is good at charades, and they soundly kick everyone's tush, thank you very much. Jaia gives him a high-five and hugs him around the legs when he tells her it's time for him to be off. He needs to find Blaine.

Kurt finds him having a tea party in a hospital room with two girls and a boy, each wearing a fancy party hat, each hooked up to several very scary looking machines. He takes a deep breath and wanders in, his best smile in place.

Blaine turns upon hearing Kurt's greeting and he has to hold in a laugh.

He is covered in streaks of glitter and there are two large, shiny purple stars painted on his face, one on his forehead and the other on his cheek. When he blinks, Kurt sees that his eyelids are bright blue and he's pretty sure his lips are shiny with sparkly gloss.

When he gets closer it's confirmed for him. “Doesn't Mr. Blaine look pretty?” one of the girls says. “Especially his lips.”

“Oh, yes,” Kurt agrees. He nods at the girl. “Very lovely indeed. Good job.” She smiles up at him.

“Would you like some tea?” asks the little boy. “We only have Darjeeling.”

“Well, how fancy. I would love some Darjeeling.” Kurt pulls out a seat as the boy pours him some 'tea.'

As he takes a sip, being sure to stick out his pinky properly, Blaine leans in and whispers, “Is nail polish toxic? 'Cause they painted on my face with it. Smells really bad.” And Kurt nearly chokes on his nonexistent tea.

**

Blaine is sombre on the drive home. Kurt holds his hand and waits for him to talk, but he stays quiet until they're back at Blaine's apartment with takeout on the table in front of them.

He's picking at his food, but he soon gives up and drops his fork on the table with a sigh and winds his arms around his body. Kurt sets down his fork as well and stands up from his seat to walk around the table. He places his hands on Blaine shoulders and tries to massage the tension away.

“I wish I could do something to help them,” he whispers. “I always feel so useless when I leave there.”

“Oh, sweetie, don't feel like that. You're doing so much for them. God, did you see their little faces? You made them so happy, Blaine. I was so proud of you today.”

Blaine reaches back and takes one of Kurt's hands, giving it a squeeze. “When my dad was sick, they said nothing was more important to the healing process than a good attitude, optimism. And those kids were full of those things, and you helped them tremendously by lifting their spirits. It'll make their doctors' work easier.” He lands a peck on the back of Blaine's neck. “You, my love, are amazing; what you do is amazing. And I never want you to doubt that.”

**

Kurt is exhausted. Rehearsal was particularly brutal and he hasn't had dinner and he'd nearly fallen asleep on the train. He'd promised to call Blaine as soon as he got home so they could discuss plans for dinner on Wednesday, but he's not sure he can manage even a telephone conversation in his current state. He tries to type out a text as he's walking up the stairs, but walking is enough trouble on its own and it comes out: _cant kweo eyue open. Talk IM morning_. Why does autocorrect only work when you don't want it?

He sighs at the screen and fishes out his keys. It takes him three tries to get the damn key in the lock, and just as he's about to turn it, the door opens and he stumbles. Probably not the best idea to rest against a closed door.

“About time you got home. I was beginning to worry you ran away with The Ringading Brothers' All Gay Circus.”

Kurt just grunts at Santana and rights himself and pushes past her into the apartment. He drops his bags in the entryway and toes off his shoes and shuffles into the kitchen to grab something that he can quickly chew and swallow to appease his angry stomach before he passes out for twelve hours. He lays his cellphone on the counter and yanks a banana off of the bunch. His indecipherable message to Blaine is still lit up on the screen.

“So,” Santana says, coming up behind him. She has picked up his bags and is lifting them up into a stool. “I found me a hot lady to shack up with and she's gonna need your room, ladyface, so you're outta here.”

Kurt chews and swallows the bite of banana in his mouth, watching her in confusion as she picks at the strap of one of his bags. “What?” he finally manages. He's too tired for this shit.

“I found a new roomie.” She shrugs her shoulders and looks up at him. She's trying very hard to be flippant, but Kurt can see through her even in his less than coherent state. And suddenly it all makes some sort of sense to his sleepy brain.

“Oh... You heard us, didn't you? You heard Blaine ask me to move in with him.”

She shrugs again and turns away. “So what if I did? Doesn't change anything. I promised her your room in two weeks.”

“Santana—”

“Look, don't get mushy on me, Lady Hummel.” She turns back and leans against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed over her chest and lips pursed.

Kurt doesn't let her stance dissuade him. “ _Thank you_.”

“Yeah, well... I appreciate you sticking by me even though you're stupid in love with that My Little Pony. So no biggie.”

Kurt lays the banana down on the counter. He no longer feels hungry. He barely even feels tired. “Are you sure?” he asks.

She nods. “Yeah. Dani needs a new place to live; her roommates keep stealing her stuff. And you need to service your little munchkin, and I need not to hear you doing it. It's a win for everybody involved.”

Kurt smiles at her, shaking his head. He'll miss her crazy. “I love you, Santana.”

She drops her arms to her sides, letting out a huff. “I love you, too. Come on then and give me a damn hug.” She opens her arms with a roll of her eyes and Kurt embraces her, rocking her back and forth until they both laugh.

He calls Blaine immediately.

“Kurt? I was starting to worry—”

“So, does the offer to move in with you still stand?”

There is a beat of silence on the other end and then Blaine finally replies. Kurt can _hear_ the grin in his voice. “What? Yes!”

Kurt laughs. “Because Santana found a new roommate.”

“Oh my God, start packing immediately!” Blaine is giggling with excitement and Kurt joins in, jumping on the spot.

“It's a good thing you have that enormous closet, because we're gonna need it. And I'll have to get rid of some of my furniture I suppose...”

“Not your bed. I'll get rid of my bed. I like yours better.”

Kurt scrunches up his nose and walks back into the kitchen to get his partially eaten banana. His stomach is grumbling again now that he's over the shock of Santana's gesture. “But your bed is comfy and already matches the décor.”

“So we redecorate,” Blaine insists. “Kurt, I want _your_ bed.”

Kurt takes a bite of banana and opens the fridge door to look for something more substantial. “Okay... May I ask why?”

“Well it was... It was the first place that we...”

 _Oh_. “Oh, honey. You're the—”

“Biggest sap ever. I know.”

“The _sweetest_ sap ever.” Kurt closes the fridge door and rests his back against it, looking into the distance at nothing. How did he get so lucky as to land such an amazing guy? “I love you.”

Blaine hums happily into the phone. “I love you, too.”

“I'm puking over here,” Santana grumbles from the other side of the room. She's taking down ingredients from the cupboard and setting them out on the counter. “Seriously. Can it, before I change my mind. Or else die of sugar shock and then you'll have to live here 'til the lease is up.”

Kurt slides to one side and smiles over at her. “I still love you, Santana.”

“Shut it, Prancey.”

“Tell her I love her too,” Blaine says.

“I dunno if that's the best idea, honey. I think she's about to make me food and I don't want her to stop.”

“That's right. Tell Handy Dandy to keep to his side of the fence until I'm ready to hand you over.”

“What's she talking about?” Blaine asks.

“I have no idea. But I'm getting food, so shush.”

**

Blaine insists on hiring movers to pack Kurt's things and they've been in and out of the apartment for days leading up to the move. When Kurt tries to pay them, he finds that Blaine already has and has to bite back the flash of irritation he feels and remind himself that Blaine is excited to have him move in and he's allowed to do nice things for Kurt once in a while. It doesn't help when Santana takes to calling him Rich Uncle Pennybags every time she mentions him.

“Where is Rich Uncle Pennybags anyway? Thought he was meeting us for breakfast before the big move.”

“He's running a bit late,” Kurt tells her. “Traffic. And could you not call him that when he gets here, please?”

“Why? Don't want him to know that you're secretly pissed he paid those guys to pack up your crap?”

Kurt sighs. “I'd rather talk to him about it in private, or not at all. As long as it doesn't become a habit—”

“Don't bottle up your rage. It'll end up exploding out of you like glitter from a float on Pride Day when he does something stupid like leaves his wet towel on the floor of the bathroom. And besides, watching you flip your shit is fucking hilarious. You get so high pitched it's like watching an old silent Charlie Chaplin movie.” She starts making quick, exaggerated motions and opening and closing her mouth.

“You're right, as much as I hate to admit it. And not about the Charlie Chaplin,” he adds when she smirks at him. “I'll talk to him about it later.” Kurt sighs and goes to do another quick sweep of his room to be sure he didn't forget anything in any nooks or crannies.

He's almost glad when he hears Santana greet Blaine ten minutes later. “Howdy, Bill Haley. Where are your comets?” Better than the alternative, he supposes, and Blaine laughs, so Kurt just shrugs and finishes going over his room.

“...and I really, really appreciate it, Santana. Sincerely.” Blaine's soft voice trails off as Kurt walks slowly down the hall. He can see the two of them standing in the living room next to the window.

Santana is looking at Blaine with her eyes all wide, shaking her head minutely. “It's like you came here in a time machine straight from the 1950s, complete with _aw shucks, golly gee whiz_ attitude and a crush on Rock Hudson. But whatever. I did it for him.”

Blaine nods at her. “That's all I can ask,” he says, and Kurt swoops in to get them out the door for breakfast so they'll be back in time to meet the movers.

**

Santana's new roommate meets them at the diner. She's a pretty girl with a wide, friendly smile, and she laughs joyously whenever Santana cracks a joke, glancing across the table at her with a soft expression. Kurt has heard Santana mention her name in passing several times, but he never thought anything of it. Until now.

“Please excuse us,” he says, and grabs Santana by the arm. “Santana and I need to visit the little girl's room to powder our noses.”

He stops in the corner, just out of sight of their table, and Santana curses him out when she bumps into him from behind. “What the hell is your problem, Lady Hummel? Are you getting cold feet already? I mean, the way your boy cuts his eggs into tiny little pieces _is_ kinda weird, but...” Her tone turns wondering. “If he can fit the entirety of your massive yogurt slinger down his throat he really doesn't have to worry about choking on an egg, you know?”

Kurt waves a hand in the air in an attempt to quiet her so he can get down to business. “She's your girlfriend, isn't she?”

“No, I've just been having a one-night-standathon across the city for the past eight months.”

Kurt lets out a squeal of excitement and bounces in place, grabbing both of her arms. “ _Eight months_? You've been seeing her since _summer_?”

“Good thing there are no dogs in the vicinity or you would have busted up their eardrums with that one,” she complains. “But yeah. I met her at that Fourth of July party we went to. You know, when you faked a headache and took a cab home after only two hours.”

Kurt is shaking his head at her. Since July! _July_ and she didn't tell him! “Why didn't you say anything?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “I don't know. It was new, and then it seemed weird, and then you were obsessed with your shiny new squeeze toy and I just didn't. You know me, I'm private about these things. I don't like to shout it from the rooftops like some other people I know...”

Kurt rolls his eyes fondly and pulls her in for a hug. “Whatever. Regardless, I'm happy for you. She seems really sweet.”

“Thanks. Now let's get back to the table before your boyfriend bores her to death spouting facts about the invention of hair care products and his particular affinity for Brylcreem.”

**

That night, they curl up on Kurt's bed in Blaine's bedroom, which feels weird to Kurt, but he knows it won't take long to get used to, and then he can start referring to it as _their_ bed and _their_ bedroom.

Blaine stripped out of his shirt hours before when they were unpacking, and Kurt has quite enjoyed watching him work and sweat. He's enjoying Blaine's shirtless state even more now, as he presses little loving pecks all over his chest.

“Blaine,” he says quietly. Blaine's eyes pop open and he hums in question. “I'm paying you back for the movers.”

Blaine's brow furrows and he lets his eyes fall back shut. “No. I wanted to do that. You're busy and I wanted to make it easier for you... and get you here quicker, too.”

Kurt sighs and presses another kiss over Blaine's heart. “I realize that, but I still feel weird about you paying for things like that for me.”

Blaine scooches down the bed a little until they're lying face to face. He takes both of Kurt's hands in his and kisses his knuckles. “It was a gift, okay? I just wanted it to all go smoothly and be as little work for you as possible.”

He's smiling so sweetly that of course Kurt caves almost immediately. “Okay, but don't do it again. We have to share things, Blaine, even bills and expenses. I know you make more money than I do, but that doesn't change anything.”

Blaine nods and kisses Kurt's nose. “Fair enough,” he says. “I promise.” He makes a crossing motion over his heart and grins. “Am I still in trouble?”

Kurt barks a laugh and gets up on his knees on the mattress. “Oh, you're in trouble all right, mister. I'll show you how much trouble you're in.”

Blaine whines and makes a feeble swipe to grab Kurt back as he crawls off of the bed, then he stretches his body with a yawn, reaching out and clasping his hands around the wooden posts that adorn the headboard. Perfect.

Kurt is quick. He finds what he's looking for in one of his yet to be unpacked bags, then leaps back onto the bed and slaps the handcuffs around Blaine's right wrist, then goes in behind the headboard and hooks the other side around his left one.

“I've got you where I want you now, Anderson,” he crows. “You're in for it.”

And Blaine lets out the most adorable damn giggle. “Uh oh. What are you going to do to me?”

“Mmm... I'm sure I can think of something.” Kurt winks at Blaine and shimmies downward, stopping when he gets to Blaine's soft, sweet tummy and the waistband of his jeans. He nuzzles his face in the former and tugs at the latter, popping the button through the hole and slowly bringing down the zipper. He can see the shape of Blaine's cock hardening beneath the denim and he looks up and licks his lips.

Blaine strains against the cuffs, forgetting they're there at all, trying to reach down and touch Kurt. “Now that's just unfair,” he says, and pouts out his bottom lip. He sucks the lip into his mouth a moment later when Kurt pulls his cock and balls out of his underwear and licks a long, wet stripe from one end to the other. He lets out a moan and Kurt grins, opening his mouth and sucking in Blaine's length all at once.

Blaine curses under his breath and shifts; Kurt can hear the handcuffs rattle as he moves his hands. It turns him on, the fact that Blaine is all tied up, that he can't move or touch. He goes faster, flicking out his tongue as he sucks, and slides one hand up Blaine's jean-clad thigh and wraps his fingers around his shaft, pumping it in time with the motion of his mouth.

He hears another curse from Blaine and then a softer, “Kurt?” He pulls off of Blaine's cock with a pornographic slurping sound and Blaine shudders and lets out a whine. “Can you maybe tie me up with something softer, because these are starting to really hurt. Sorry.”

“Oh, baby, no. I'm sorry.” Kurt slides up the bed and looks at Blaine's wrists. The skin is red beneath the metal of the cuffs. He hadn't even thought of that. “I'll just get the... keys...”

But he can't remember seeing the keys. He remembers them on Christmas morning when his dad had opened the box containing the handcuffs; they had been tied to a little bit of red ribbon. He goes to rummage through his bag looking for them, but he already knows he won't find them. He didn't pack them. Probably never had them at all. They were likely swept up with the tattered wrapping paper and tags and ribbons on Christmas morning and are now in a landfill somewhere in Ohio. _Fuck_.

“Blaine, I don't have the keys. Oh God, I'm so sorry.”

“What do you mean, you don't have the keys?”

“I didn't think about it. I was just being stupid and I—”

“Oh my God! So what, I just stay here forever, is that it? Or we call the fire department to save me? That'll be great: Children's entertainer, Blaine Anderson, rescued by New York firefighters when his lover handcuffed him to a bed and didn't think to check to make sure he had the damn keys first.”

Kurt cringes. “I'm sorry, baby. But it won't come to that, I promise. I have tools. I'll go get them.”

He hurries from the room and finds the small tool chest that his father bought for him when he was thirteen. He fumbles around inside, pulling out a pair of needle-nosed pliers, a small hammer, and a heavy duty pair of wire cutters, just in case he failed in his first attempt.

Blaine's eyes widen when he sees what Kurt has in his hands. “Wouldn't it be easier to just go to a sex shop and buy another pair of the handcuffs? You can call Cooper and ask him where he bought them—”

Kurt stops moving Blaine's hands into position and looks down at him. “Do you really want to stay here like this for the length of time it's gonna take me to do all that? And the shop is probably closed at this hour anyway.”

Blaine sighs nervously and nods, then closes his eyes. He flinches every time Kurt repositions his hands or moves the cuffs, and especially when he hears the scrape of metal tools against the metal of the handcuffs.

After about ten minutes, Kurt finally manages to pop the lock on the right cuff and frees Blaine's hand before quickly opening the left one in the same way. The skin beneath looks sore and he feels terrible.

Kurt kisses every inch of the reddened skin on Blaine's wrists, cooing and apologizing over and over. He pauses his ministrations when he hears what he thinks is Blaine crying, but when he pulls back, he's laughing, his shoulders shaking the entire bed.

“After all of that, you had better finish giving me that blowjob, Kurt Hummel,” he says. Kurt snorts a laugh, dropping down next to him on the bed and joining in on the laughter.


	11. Chapter 11

_Eleven... Kurt is reviewed, Blaine gets an offer, and Burt comes to town._

Opening night is fast approaching. The flurry at rehearsals has kicked up several notches, and Kurt is caught in some strange place between anxiety and desperate excitement. Rachel has taken to visiting him before going to work on her own show, and her over-the-top advice, although appreciated, is really only adding to the anxiety factor of the combination. And Kurt _really_ doesn't need that.

His dad and Carole are flying in for opening night, even though he told them they should wait at least a week until he had a few performances under his belt to be sure that he'd be at his best. His dad refused, saying he wants to see his boy his _first_ night on a Broadway stage, a moment he's rhapsodized about since he was just a kid.

Blaine's parents are excited about the show as well, and Kurt procured tickets for everyone. Now he just needs to get through the family brunch that he'd decided—in a moment of insanity—he and Blaine should host in order to introduce his family to the Andersons. With his own exhaustion and Blaine's busy schedule, he's regretting it the moment he starts preparations the day before they're all due to arrive.

“I can't believe this is what I'm doing on my only day off this week,” he grumbles, going through the fridge and making a list of everything that he's missing for his famous egg white omelets.

“Need I remind you that—”

“It was all my brilliant idea, yes. I'm aware, smartass.”

Blaine grins over at him and holds up the empty fruit bowl. “If you want fresh fruit to go with it...”

Kurt sighs. How have they been living with so little food? “Okay, I'll run out and pick up what we need. Should only take an hour or two and then I can—”

Blaine quiets him with a soft, slow kiss to the lips and gently disentangles the half crumpled list from between his fingers. “How about,” he says, then kisses Kurt again, “I go to the store, and you have a nice, hot, relaxing bath to soothe your tired muscles.”

“But Blaine, you've been busy too, that hardly seems fair. Especially seeing as it _was_ all my idea.”

Blaine shakes his head and rubs Kurt's shoulders. “I'm fine. You are full of nerves and butterflies—no, bats. I could see them fluttering in your belly from across the room.”

“Vampire bats,” Kurt agrees with a pout.

Blaine huffs a laugh. “Well I'll be sure to pick up something garlicky for lunch then.” He kisses Kurt on the nose and gives him a nudge towards the hallway and the bathroom. “I won't be long.”

Kurt nods off after his bath, still wrapped in his robe, wet hair all over the pillows. When Blaine wakes him, the late afternoon sunlight is pouring through the bedroom window. He bolts out of bed, trying to tame his hair, which has dried completely flat on one side and is all _finger in a light socket_ on the other. “Shit! I can't believe I—”

Blaine approaches slowly, as though Kurt is some sort of wild zoo animal out of his cage. “It's fine, sweetheart. I've done all the prep work. All you have to do is get ready to pick up Burt and Carole from the airport. We don't have to leave for another hour. Okay?”

Kurt nods and slumps into Blaine's arms. “I'm acting like a loon, aren't I?”

Blaine hums and rubs a hand across Kurt's back. “You've got a lot on your mind.”

“That wasn't a no, Blaine.”

**

His parents settle in well and Carole is eager to help make brunch the next morning. Kurt puts her in charge of cutting up fruit while he gets his omelets ready for cooking once the Andersons arrive. Kurt has been invited to attend their monthly Sunday brunches on the past two occasions, and he finds that he's anxious to see them again. And to get Tom to show his dad pictures of the classic Chevy he and Blaine restored together the summer before they moved to New York. It's beautiful.

Cooper is the first to arrive. “So you're the famous Cooper,” Burt greets him with eyebrows raised, no doubt referring to the Christmas handcuff incident. Kurt catches Blaine running his fingers around his wrist and moves in order to block Blaine's fidgeting from his father's eagle-eyed view. He's sure to figure out exactly what Blaine is remembering.

“That's right, I am famous!” Cooper grabs one of Burt's hands and shakes it thoroughly. “God, I love Midwestern folks; they always recognize me!”

“Not what he means, Coop,” Blaine says, eyes rolling skyward. At least he's stopped picking at his phantom handcuff injury.

“Well, I _do_ recognize you,” Carole says, taking a grinning Cooper's arm and hustling him away to the living room.

Carole and Cooper are quite taken with one another, so Kurt seats them together, and leaves the fathers to their chatter at the other side of the table. Blaine's mother squeezes in next to Kurt and Blaine, complimenting them on the food and then telling Kurt how excited she is about the show the following night.

After they eat, Kurt and Blaine send everyone off to the living room and begin clearing the table. Kurt, ever clumsy and tripping over his own feet, stumbles with a couple of glasses and a plate. When Blaine reaches out to keep him from falling, he cuts himself on a glass that Kurt has knocked into the corner of the entryway. Kurt slides the damaged dishes onto the counter, apologizing profusely, and rushes to the bathroom to find the antiseptic ointment and bandages, Blaine running his hand under the tap and reassuring Kurt that he's fine as he goes.

As he is rummaging under the bathroom sink, he hears voices drifting in from the hall. He recognizes his own father, and then Blaine's.

“Can I give you a little advice,” Burt asks, “father to father?” It's quiet for a moment. Kurt pauses in his rummaging to listen. “Hug your son. He thinks you don't like him, and from the way you talk about him all the time, I know he's wrong about that.”

“What? No.” Tom makes a scoffing sound, but even without seeing him, Kurt can tell that he's not really sure of himself. “We're not a very _demonstrative_ family, but surely he doesn't—” It's quiet again and Kurt pulls the box of bandages out slowly. “ _Oh_ ,” Tom finally says. “I will take that under advisement. Thank you, Burt.”

“No problem,” his dad says as they're moving away. Huh. Kurt wonders what spawned that conversation.

In the kitchen, Blaine has paper towel wound around his palm and he's bent over loading the dishwasher. “Why are you doing that and not waiting until you're all bandaged up?” Kurt lays over Blaine's back, pressing his groin snugly against his pert little ass. 

Blaine chuckles and shimmies his hips. “Are you trying to get fresh with me while I'm injured and our parents are here? Really?”

“Well it's kinda hard to resist when you stick your gorgeous ass up at me like that.”

“Oh... I'm just going to... go back.” It's Blaine's father, his face red and his eyes wide. He backs quickly out of the room.

Blaine sighs, sliding one last plate into the dishwasher and closing the door. “At least he didn't run away screaming.”

Kurt unwinds the paper towel from Blaine's hand and picks up the tube of ointment he'd brought from the bathroom. “You know, I don't think he cares that you're gay, Blaine. He just doesn't know how to talk to you about it. Or about anything really. He's very... reserved.”

“What makes you say that?” Blaine doesn't look up from watching Kurt smear ointment on his small cut, then follows his motion as he opens a bandage and flattens it over the heel of his palm. 

Kurt shrugs. “Just a feeling. And I think he was coming in here to talk to you. You should go find him.”

“And talk to him about what? You grinding against my ass?”

Kurt winks and gives said ass a gentle pat. “You were the one doing the grinding, honey.”

As the Andersons are getting ready to leave, Kurt smiles to himself, watching Blaine's father pull him into the most awkward looking embrace that Kurt has ever witnessed. It'll come. They just need more practice.

**

Kurt is staring at himself in his dressing room mirror. His _own_ dressing room. He's wearing the makeup and part of the first costume, and he's hit with a moment of pure and utter disbelief. How is this suddenly his life?

He hollers “ _come in_ ” when he hears a knock on the door, and Blaine peeks around the corner with a magnificent bouquet of flowers in his arms. “Just wanted to say break a leg, Kurt. And that I love you.”

Kurt gets up from in front of his vanity and gives Blaine a kiss, careful not to smear him with black and white stage makeup. “I love you, too. I can't believe this is happening.”

“You're going to blow everyone away,” Blaine says with a smile, and rests a soft hand on Kurt's cheek. “And I can't wait to witness it.” He presses another kiss to Kurt's lips. “I've got to get back to my seat, but really, break a leg, my love. Both of our families send their love as well.”

Kurt nods, blinking back tears as Blaine leaves his dressing room to be ushered back to his seat in the audience. He looks back in the mirror, flowers still nestled in his arms and breathes. Just breathes.

**

From the moment the spotlight shines on him and he begins to sing _Willkommen_ , Kurt disappears into his character, into his zone. The rest of the show is a bright and frantic blur up until the finale and the applause. Kurt doesn't know if it's just his imagination, but the applause seem to go from thunderous to deafening when he takes his bow. They go on and on and he can hear cheers and whistles and tears spring to the fronts of his eyes, threatening to spill over. Sally and Cliff push him to the front again, laughing and clapping their hands and telling him to take another bow. He curtsies, giggling, and the crowd erupts again. He feels overcome. He feels triumphant. He's been waiting so long and has worked so hard for a moment just like this, it almost seems like a dream.

Someone hollers his name, bringing him back to himself, and it sounds like his dad. He can't see into the audience, not really, but he knows where Blaine and their families are sitting and he blows a kiss in their direction.

The after party is more of the same—this time a blur of people as he's passed around for congratulations. He hugs Blaine and his dad extra long.

One of the producers approaches him while he's getting a glass of champagne, an old man wearing tweed and a bowtie walking closely at his side. The man in tweed is introduced as George, also a Broadway producer, but of the _Guys and Dolls_ revival that started the summer before.

“You were miraculous out there tonight, Mr. Hummel,” George says. “But I actually wanted to speak to you about that boy you were with earlier.”

Kurt furrows his brow, turning away for a moment to accept his drink from the bartender. “Blaine?”

“Yes. Blaine Anderson. He's got quite a good look, and a really lovely singing voice. Can dance, too. My granddaughter watches his show.”

“Well, yes,” Kurt agrees, wondering if maybe the man is senile if he feels the need to randomly point this out when Blaine isn't even present. Kurt looks around the room, but he doesn't even spot Blaine where he left him.

“Do you know him well?” George asks.

“Yes, he's my boyfriend. I live with him.” Kurt chuckles and takes a sip of his drink, trying to cover up his confusion.

“Do you think he would have any interest in doing a short run in my show? Our Sky Masterson is leaving to shoot a film for two months this summer, and I would really like to replace him with someone flashy.”

Kurt nearly drops his drink. He bugs out his eyes and nods emphatically. “I—yes! I think he would be very interested.”

George smiles and hands Kurt his card. “Have him call me ASAP and we can discuss the details if he is interested. I was hoping to speak with him in person, but I'm afraid I have to run.”

Kurt tucks the card into his pocket, patting it to be sure it isn't going anywhere. That thing is gold. Blaine's dream-making gold.

He finds Blaine outside putting his parents into a cab. “What are you grinning about?” Blaine asks after the car has driven off. He wraps his arm around Kurt and rubs his hand up and down his arm. “Besides the obvious that you kicked so much Broadway ass tonight.”

“Well... I was wondering, what do you think of Sky Masterson?”

“Um, the character from _Guys and Dolls_? He's got some pretty good songs. I mean, I don't know the guy _personally_ or anything. Seems to have recovered from his gambling addiction pretty well, with the help of a good woman, of course.”

Kurt huffs a laugh and slides an arm around Blaine's waist, turning him back in the direction of the party. “And what would you say if someone offered you the role for a short run while you're on filming hiatus?”

Blaine laughs, his nose scrunching in confusion. “How much have you had to drink, sweetheart?”

Kurt pulls George's card from his pocket and holds it up. “This is from one of the _Guys and Dolls_ bigwigs. He wants you, asked for you specifically. He wants you to call him ASAP. And you know that's a direct quote, because I detest when people say ASAP. It's only acceptable in written communications.”

“Oh my—Kurt, are you _serious_?” Blaine's eyes widen and one of his hands reaches up to shakily cover his open mouth. “But that's—”

Kurt smiles, rubbing Blaine's side and waiting for the information to really sink in. He knows how he felt when he got his call, knows it's a lot, especially when it seems as though it will never happen. Blaine's shoulders slump a little and his hand falls down by his side and then reaches out to take one of Kurt's. He's shaking his head and smiling and Kurt can feel his pulse racing in his wrist. “I feel like I'm going to cry,” he says. Kurt's own eyes fill with moisture at the thickness of Blaine's voice. “Is this really happening? Like, I could do the show but keep my job?”

Kurt smiles and lands a peck on the top of his head. “Best of both worlds, honey. Best of both worlds.”

**

Kurt paces the room as they wait for the reviews to come in. He keeps telling himself that reviews mean nothing, they're just some idiot critic's opinion, and since when has Kurt Hummel ever let himself be intimidated by idiot critics? Not in Lima, not at NYADA, and not in all the years since. If they don't like him, well, he can live with that. He knows in his heart of hearts that he did well and the people he loves are proud of him, and that's all that really matters.

Blaine finds him near the window, staring out at the lights and the low-hanging fog of the ridiculously early hour. Kurt feels him before he sees him, his soft touch like a whisper on the bare skin of Kurt's forearm. He turns his head to one side and stares into the reflection of Blaine's eyes. “They're coming in,” Blaine says, voice quiet. Kurt nods once and turns to follow him.

Everyone crowds around a tablet that belongs to one of the producers, taking turns reading aloud from this critic or that. They are extremely positive and flattering all around, but no one garners more critical praise than Kurt as the Emcee. Blaine leads him away from all other people and Kurt bursts into tears, crying out his blinding happiness into the neck of the man he loves.


	12. Chapter 12

_Twelve... Kurt helps, Blaine brings up the future, and The Devil Child vomits again._

 

“If it hadn't been their anniversary,” Kurt says again. “God, why did the stupid nanny have to break her ankle?”

Blaine glances over and Kurt has the decency to look ashamed of his callousness. The poor woman. Still, he huffs and lays his head against the wall of the elevator just as it makes a _ping_ and the door opens on Finn and Rachel's floor.

Rachel flings the door open in their faces before they've even had the chance to knock.

“Kurt!” she greets brightly, pulling him down for a hug and kissing his cheek, then hastily wiping away the sticky gloss her lips have left behind. Her affection makes him look guilty for complaining the entire way over and Blaine grins at him from behind her back.

“And Blaine, you too,” she says, pecking him on the cheek in turn. “Thank you so much for coming over last minute to rescue us! We were certain we were going to have to cancel our plans!”

“No one should miss their wedding anniversary. That's just wrong in every way,” Blaine tells her. Kurt smirks over as she furrows her brow, shaking her head. 

“Oh no, the anniversary of our marriage isn't until Valentine's Day. This is the anniversary of our first kiss.” Her eyes take on a dreamy fog. “It was in the auditorium at our high school, on the stage. Finn kissed me passionately and I will never forget a single moment of the way it felt.” She moves in closer to Blaine, a hand up to block her mouth from the rest of the room. “But then he suffered from premature ejaculation and ran away into the night.”

Blaine's eyes bug out and Kurt has to turn his laugh into a cough. “And this is something that you want to celebrate every year?” Blaine asks. He's thankful that Finn hasn't ventured out and didn't overhear her telling Blaine his embarrassing secrets.

“Oh yes. All the twists and turns of young love.” Rachel sighs wistfully and pats Blaine on the back of the hand. He looks to Kurt, making a face, but Kurt is still snickering into his own shoulder.

“Well, um... congratulations?” Blaine clears his throat as Finn comes out from inside, fiddling with his tie. “Hey, guys! Thanks for coming over. Ollie's in his room playing dinosaurs and he says to come find him when it's dinnertime.”

Rachel shakes her head when Finn shortens their son's name, then runs inside, saying she's off to kiss him goodnight.

Although Kurt nods and hums along as Rachel shows him multiple things that he can make for Olivier's dinner, the minute they're out the door, he pulls open a slim drawer in the stand in the hallway and rummages inside, pulling out a stack of takeout menus. “Finn's secret stash,” he says, waving them in the air. “Rachel goes on health food kicks once in a while and he needs greasy sustenance. You wanna go get Olivier? He likes to pick the super-secret dinner foods. He gets all proud of himself.”

Blaine laughs and walks down the hall to Kurt's nephew's room. He's inside playing with a legion of toy dinosaurs, just like Finn said.

“Wow, is that a triceratops?” Blaine plunks down on the rug next to him and takes a look at the spread. It's a pretty impressive collection.

Olivier nods. “Hi Blaine. Are you gonna sing? Because Mommy already did today and there's a rule about not too much singing. The neighbours hit the wall.”

“No, I think I'm good. I already sang at work today.”

Olivier nods seriously. “My mommy and daddy and Uncle Kurt all sing at work, too. Only Daddy just sometimes 'cause he's a music teacher. There's other music with no singing.”

“Well, singing is a very fun job.” Blaine picks up a pterodactyl and swoops it through the air. “Uncle Kurt says you can pick out dinner, if you would like to come help us with that very important decision.”

Olivier's eyes grow large and he sucks in his lips, a little dimple appearing in his right cheek. He bobs his head up and down. “Uncle Kurt orders the goodest pizza,” he says. “I want that.”

Blaine sits back and watches as Olivier packs up his dinosaurs neatly in a basket. And Kurt and Santana call this child the spawn of Satan? He seems sweet to Blaine. And adorable, with his tousled dark hair and big brown eyes. He slides the basket under his desk and takes Blaine's hand. Blaine reaches down and ruffles his hair with his free one. Precious child. Kurt and Santana obviously just hate children.

Two hours and a lot of pizza later—though it feels like longer, but Blaine is not going to say anything remotely like that to Kurt, who really doesn't need to be further riled—Blaine is still defending the kid, even though circumstances continue to prove it a difficult venture.

“What in the world was I thinking? _Of course we don't mind demon-sitting your hell spawn, Rachel_. I usually only agree to stupid things like that when I've had a bottle of wine. Or two.”

“Aw, he's not that bad,” Blaine argues. “You know, if it wasn't for him, we may never have even met.”

Kurt huffs. “I suppose he does get a few points for that. Even though it was technically Santana's idea and I'm sure she would have found another stray child if it hadn't panned out. She's very devoted to me that way.”

“I'm well aware. She sends me threatening texts once a week, saying if your 'coat' isn't appropriately shiny when she meets you for your weekly lunch date, she will _cuts_ me. I'm not a hundred percent sure what that even means, but that doesn't make it any less frightening.”

Kurt's shoulders shake as he laughs, knocking their backs together. “Olivier!” he yells for the twentieth time. Then under his breath, “Get in here, you little shit. I promise not to tie you up in a sack and throw you in the East River.”

Blaine sees Olivier's head peek out around the corner of the living room entryway. “Hey kiddo,” he says in a coaxing voice. “Why don't you come and untie us so we can make that popcorn we promised you.”

He sees Olivier come into the room, if only slightly. He's kicking the wall with what appears to be a muddy rubber boot on his foot. He heaves a sigh like he's put upon and leans against the doorframe. “Only if you promise to not be mad. 'Cause Uncle Kurt is mad, I can tell. He gets mad like Mommy gets mad. It's scarier when they're quiet,” he adds in a whisper, looking at Blaine with wide eyes. Blaine knows that terror, but it seems safer to keep that to himself. Instead he gives Olivier a little wink.

“Anyways, I thought you liked being tied up. That's what Auntie Snix told my mommy. She said, 'they're into kinky shit like being tied up.' What's _kinky shit_ mean?”

Blaine hears Kurt choke back a growl and feels his wrists shift as Kurt moves his hands. “I'm not mad, Olivier. Just come and untie us now, buddy. Then maybe you can tell us all about how you got so good at tying people up in the first place.” His voice is falsely bright and utterly insincere, but Olivier seems to be falling for it and comes a little closer. Kurt twists his shoulders and rests more weight against Blaine's back. “Something someone could maybe have warned us about,” he mutters.

“Uncle Puck showed me,” Olivier says. He's next to them now. He kicks off his one dirty boot and rocks back and forth with his hands behind his back. “He said it was a good joke.”

“Noah Puckerman, leading another generation towards most certain felony convictions,” Kurt mutters again.

Blaine is about to ask who this Uncle Puck is, but Olivier has finally begun to untie them, so he thinks better of it. His ass is killing him from sitting in the hard floor for so long, not to mention his arms from being stuck in such an awkward position.

Olivier lets Blaine out first. He may be a little on the evil side, but he's smarter than Kurt gives him credit for. As soon as Kurt is free, he makes a grab for him, but he jumps behind Blaine's legs.

“I'm sorry, Uncle Kurt. I was only trying to make things fun for you and Blaine. And I don't even want popcorn 'cause my tummy is squishy.”

Kurt heaves a sigh, deflating in the face of his nephew's wide puppy eyes. “As long as you promise me—no more funny business. And no more tying people up, ever.”

“Unless they ask you first,” Blaine amends. Kurt looks over at him with one eyebrow arched and Blaine grins back at him.

Olivier nods and holds out his arms for Kurt to scoop him up. As they're hugging, Olivier's little chin hooked over Kurt's shoulder, Blaine notices his face go chalky. “Um, Kurt—” is all he manages to get out before Olivier opens his mouth and vomits down Kurt's back, splatters of it making a nauseating sound as they hit the tiled floor.

“Oh my God!” Kurt turns slowly and looks at Blaine, pleading with his frantic eyes. “Blaine, stay with me here, baby. I need your help.”

Blaine holds his breath to keep out the noxious smell of vomit and reaches out to take Olivier from Kurt's arms. He can do this. As long as the kid doesn't throw up on him too, he'll be okay.

Kurt peels off his sweater and shirt and tells Blaine to take Olivier inside to his room and he'll be there as soon as he's cleaned himself off. Blaine walks slowly. He doesn't want to jostle the kid in case there's more in there. Once away from the living room, he lets out his held breath in a whoosh. Olivier is trembling in his arms.

“It's okay, kiddo. It's going to be okay.” Blaine pulls back the blankets on his bed and sets him down gently, checking him over. He has to swallow thickly when he sees that there is a bit of a mess around Olivier's mouth, though he seems otherwise clean. Blaine rushes into the bathroom to get a washcloth and a wastebasket in case he needs to be sick again.

By the time Blaine has washed Olivier's face and poured him a cup of water, Kurt is clean and scrubbing the living room floor.

“There's not a puddle of your puke to match this one inside, is there?” Kurt asks as Blaine is walking by with Olivier's water.

“No, I fought it off. Thanks for the concern.” He leans inside the room and pokes out his tongue at Kurt, but thinks better of it a second later when he catches a whiff of the vomit and his stomach rolls. He backs up and makes a hasty retreat to Olivier's bedside.

“Blaine?” Olivier's voice is weak and tired sounding. Blaine hums in response, feeding him another sip of water and then continues to rub his tummy while he waits. “You should marry Uncle Kurt so you can be my Uncle Blaine.”

Blaine smiles and sets the cup on the bedside table. He likes the way this kid thinks. Well, besides when he's tricking them into being tied together in the living room and left while he does God knows what.

“I'm getting there, kiddo,” he replies. “I'm getting there.”

Olivier's eyes close and open again, his blinks getting slower and slower. “Uncle Blaine?” he rasps. “Will you sing me a song?”

“Of course I will.” Blaine rubs Olivier's hair as he sings a quiet lullaby. It's one he's only just recorded for the final _Somewhere in the World_ of the season, but he doubts Olivier will tell anyone. Or if he's still even conscious.

“You've got quite a way with him,” Kurt says in a hushed tone from the doorway.

“He's a sweet kid.” Blaine pecks the top of Olivier's head before standing. Kurt reaches out a hand and Blaine clasps it and is led to the spare room where they are staying for the night.

Kurt is already in his pyjamas, his clothes having been, er, well, Blaine would really rather not think about that, so he snuggles under the covers of the bed and watches Blaine get changed into his own.

Blaine pauses when he thinks he might hear Olivier across the hall, but it must have been his imagination. “Do you want kids?” he asks Kurt as he's crawling onto the bed. “We've never really talked about it before.”

Kurt turns over onto his side so he's facing Blaine and looks contemplative. “I dunno. Honestly, kids scare me a little. They can be overwhelming. And I can be bitchy and selfish. I've always thought I'd make a pretty terrible father.”

“I think you'd be an amazing father. You're kind and caring—you can't even argue that fact because I know you knitted those matching scarf-hat-mitten combos for the homeless men at the park—not to mention you're a natural born disciplinarian.”

“Everybody deserves matching accessories, Blaine. And a disciplinarian? That's just your way of saying I'd be the mean dad. That is, if you meant we would be having the kids. I mean, together.” Kurt averts his eyes and Blaine shakes his head fondly. As if he could have meant anything else.

“Of course I meant us being dads together, and you would not be the _mean_ dad. You would be the... dad no one messes with?”

“So the mean dad.” Kurt sticks out his tongue as Blaine laughs and kisses him on the nose. “Anyway, I want to get married first before I start worrying about adoption or surrogacy and whatever fun that could bring.”

“Mmm... I love weddings.” Blaine cuddles further under the blankets and presses his toes into Kurt's calf. “They're so beautiful and moving. Especially outdoors in the fall when the leaves are all crisp and colourful. It's magical.”

Kurt hums happily and flops a leg over Blaine's. “Yes, fall weddings are the best. I have always wanted to be married in the fall. And autumn colour palettes are very flattering to both of our skin tones.”

“Maybe this fall?” Blaine nudges Kurt's hip playfully and flutters his eyelashes.

“Well, you'll have to ask me officially to get an official answer, mister. I'm not spoiling the surprise.”

“But you just said that the colours were—”

“Nope.”

Blaine sticks out his lip and rolls over, dislodging Kurt's leg from on top of his and pushing him flat on his back. “But you _already_ said—”

Kurt smiles crookedly and quirks an eyebrow. “Nope.”

“Oh, I'll _make_ you say yes,” Blaine tells him, sliding slowly up his body until he's straddling his hips. He twitches his hips back and forth, giving Kurt's groin a cursory rub with his ass. “Scream it even.” He bends down to kiss Kurt's grinning mouth.

Blaine pauses when he hears shuffling and glances over his shoulder. Olivier is standing in the doorway.

“Uncle Blaine, I threw up in my bed.”

Blaine looks quickly down at Kurt for some sort of reassurance, some sort of plan.

“Have fun with that,” Kurt says. When Blaine widens his eyes, Kurt shrugs beneath him. “You're the one planning an army of children. So go practice being the nice dad.”

“I didn't say an army—”

Kurt giggles. “I'm kidding. You bring him into bed and get him settled down and I'll go deal with the mess.”

Blaine breathes a sigh of relief.

“Blaine, you're gonna have to get off me, sweetie.”

“Right.” He gathers up Olivier as Kurt slowly climbs out of bed, looking back mournfully at the comfy heap of blankets.

“Can I join your children army?” Olivier asks. “Will I have to wear a bowtie?”

Blaine can hear Kurt burst into a fit of laughter from across the hall. “Only if you want to, kiddo,” Blaine says. “Only if you want to.”


	13. Chapter 13

_Epilogue... Blaine is reviewed and Kurt is impatient._

_Don't take_ Somewhere in the World' _s long hiatus to heart, kids! Your loss is Broadway's gain. Blaine Anderson's triumphant portrayal of a young, struggling college student in_ All Time Low _had everyone cheering last night at the St. James Theatre during the opening of his brand new show._

_Anderson stunned critics with both his acting and singing chops during his short stint as Sky Masterson in_ Guys and Dolls _last year, and now again as enigmatic and charming Chad Rolland in the enjoyable and heartfelt new show from the creators of the Tony Award winning musical,_ Transgressors. 

_He was spotted at the after party canoodling with his long-time boyfriend, this year's Tony winner for_ Best Performance By An Actor In A Leading Role In A Musical, _Kurt Hummel, the pair of them bright and jubilant and posing for multiple photo ops._

__

__“Are you reading it again?”_ _

__“Maybe.”_ _

__Kurt comes around the side of the armchair and takes the tablet from Blaine's hands, smiling down at the article on the screen. He climbs into Blaine's lap, kissing him sweetly on the forehead. “You know, next year at this time, I foresee a matched pair of Tonys on our mantle, Mr. Anderson. His and his Tonys.” He widens his eyes and Blaine groans, burying his face in Kurt's neck._ _

__“Don't say that. Then we'll both be disappointed when I'm not even nominated.”_ _

__“Oh you'll be nominated all right. And you'll win. You were miraculous, Blaine. Stunning. No one stands a chance against you.”_ _

__Blaine gives him a kiss, no more than a gentle press of lips. “Thank you for believing in me so adamantly.”_ _

__“I will always believe in you, Blaine. And I will always love you.”_ _

__They kiss more deeply this time, a teasing taste of tongues, and fingers gripped in still tousled hair. Blaine is the one who pulls back first, and Kurt lets out a whine._ _

__“I love you, too, Kurt. God, ever since I met you... I didn't know life could be like this. You're everything to me.”_ _

__Kurt sniffs a little and runs a hand down the side of Blaine's face. “I guess that's my cue.”_ _

__“Cue for what—”_ _

__Kurt digs in the pocket of his pyjama pants and pulls out a box, snapping it open to reveal a shiny golden ring. “Will you marry me, Blaine Anderson?”_ _

 

__Blaine's jaw drops and his eyes fill with moisture. “Oh my— yes. Oh definitely yes.”_ _

__Kurt slides the ring on his finger and he just stares before shaking himself out of his frozen state and kissing Kurt full on the lips. “It's so beautiful,” he says. “Oh, _Kurt_.”_ _

__“It's vintage Cartier. A ring from the 50s seemed apropos for you.”_ _

__Blaine laughs, looking down at the ring, then leans up to kiss Kurt again. “I have— God, you need to get up for a second so I can, um... Get up for a second?”_ _

__Kurt mock scowls. “So you can what? I'm not getting off of my fiancé without a damn good reason.”_ _

__Blaine lets out a giddy laugh at the word. “Is your own ring a good enough reason?”_ _

__Kurt climbs off of Blaine's lap so quickly that he nearly does a faceplant on the living room rug._ _

__After a minute of impatience on Kurt's end and rummaging on Blaine's—he emerges from their bedroom with a thin, platinum band clenched between his fingers. “I did have a plan you know, geez,” he pretends to complain as he slides it on Kurt's finger, and Kurt bounces up and down._ _

__“It's so gorgeous, it's so gorgeous, oh my God!”_ _

__He gives Blaine a kiss and wraps his arms around his neck. “I couldn't wait another minute,” he says. “I want those articles to say 'husbands' instead of 'long-time boyfriends'.”_ _

__“Well I can't argue with that.” Blaine cups Kurt's hips in his hands, holding him close as they share another kiss. “Oh my God, does this mean we get to be groomzillas together?”_ _

__“Oh yes. We'll destroy Manhattan instead of Tokyo.”_ _

__Blaine huffs a laugh, smothering it in the side Kurt's neck. “I love you, Kurt Hummel. I can't even imagine my life without you in it. And I don't want to.”_ _

__“Well you'll never have to. Promise.”_ _

__And they seal it with a kiss._ _


End file.
